International Journalism Vs. Global Communications: Similar Storytelling, Yet Key Differences

BEIJING?–?During the summer of 2016,?several of my trainees?in Prague were?among the foreign correspondents?who followed-up on Europe’s great migration crisis of the previous year: from the torturous journeys and restive detention centers that dominated global headlines, to a reality today that is far less sensational but just as important – integrating many of these migrants into less-than-welcoming host countries.

To illuminate this reality, correspondents headed to “the frontlines,” to bring the story to life with real human examples and concrete evidence: interviewing beleaguered migrants, foreign-aid activists, social-workers, local residents and government officials.

Is integration working? If it is, why? If it’s not, why not? Even more, if it’s not working, who’s to blame? The government? The activists? The locals? Maybe the migrants themselves?

Meanwhile, a second group of storytellers spotlighted the same issue, also to raise global awareness. Likewise, they worked to “humanize” the plight of migrants, and backed it up with facts. Except their stories were produced by a Communications officer for a non-profit group on the ground – entrusted to roll up their sleeves, to actually help?solve?such vexing issues.

If there’s good news, sure, they’ll share it. But if integration efforts are somehow hampered or ineffective, this storyteller, unlike the journalist, is disinclined to probe who’s at fault, let alone publicly identify the culprits – or include the voices of finger-pointing, blame-laying critics. (Could it be our government partners who are obstructionist? Or, our migrant beneficiaries, unwilling to adapt? Or, is our own programming missing the mark?)

This contrast in storytelling approach matters: in a world plagued by countless health, human-rights, development and democratization challenges, the foreign media and not-for-profits play the two most vital, indispensable roles.?Sound the alarm.?Provide meaningful context.?And don’t allow a distracted international community to forsake the afflicted.

Moreover, in this age of instant information, correspondents and Communications officers are so instrumental in raising awareness online, using such similar storytelling methods, that anyone who cares about the world beyond their own borders should grasp their essential differences – and why humanity needs them both, working well in tandem.

(Their symbiosis?is also?a key element?of the growing?Solutions Journalism?movement.)

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I speak as someone?now wearing three hats: as an American foreign correspondent, a Communications Consultant and a teacher-trainer of both International Journalism and International Communications. While I’m a longtime journalist, reporting from some 30 countries over the past two decades, I only expanded into Communications four years ago.

Yet the similarities are so strong, I sometimes combine them into?International Storytelling, as I’m doing this summer in Prague, leading a new?hybrid, one-of-a-kind course. (We ourselves will explore Europe’s migrant-crisis today, applying both journalistic and Communications strategies. My trainees, though, may also choose their own story topic, like these two about Europe's?largest, most marginalized minority?and the?resurgent Czech glass industry.)

Over these past four years, as I’ve applied two decades’ worth of journalistic formulas to my Communications gigs – first in Africa, now from China – more colleagues and students ask me:?So what exactly?is?the difference between Journalism and Communications?

Two words:?truth?and?duty. Let me explain why.

To begin with, foreign correspondents and communication professionals for foreign-aid groups often share the same noble aspirations: raise awareness of a justifiable concern; better inform and educate the audience; give voice to the voiceless; empower the powerless.

The most effective way to do this is to follow the lead of foreign journalists, as the Communications world now appreciates, too. As I describe it, “humanizing, fact-based storytelling.” To reach a smart, curious, concerned international audience – yet confronted by the great distance of both geography and culture – the most powerful, emotive tool is to illuminate our?shared humanity. In journalistic parlance: “put a human face” on our subjects.

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I first detected the similarities in mid-2012, while living in the?tiny African kingdom of Lesotho, which suffers the world’s second-highest rate of HIV infection: 23 percent. Saturday is known as “funeral day,” for the staggering toll of HIV. Moreover, the Basotho of Lesotho are, according to every major health indicator, one of the world’s sickliest societies. The UNICEF office in Maseru hired me to help write their fundraising proposals to reduce malnutrition, encourage immunizations, and eradicate mother-to-child transmission of HIV.

As I researched the issues, then interviewed their Basotho field-workers, one factor that emerged was vaguely described as the problematic “access to healthcare.” What did that?mean? Especially to our audience? Who?is?our audience, after all? Primarily, smart, curious, Westerners – in Washington, London, Berlin, and elsewhere – who likely have never been to Lesotho. Yet they’re concerned enough to approve funding in the past, or would consider doing so now. How to make them feel, even care about, the Basotho “access to healthcare”?

Thinking as a foreign correspondent, I had to draw it out of the Basotho UNICEF staffers, to get them to “paint a picture” with their words. For example, here we were, high in the mountains of Southern Africa – Lesotho, in fact, boasts the only skiing in Africa. Mountains so rugged, hamlets so un-developed, that 75 percent of Basotho homes lack electricity.

With so few paved roads, as well, the most common form of transportation is either horse or donkey. To get a sick child, a pregnant woman, or an ailing elder, over the peaks or through the valleys, to the nearest health clinic, it could take hours. Just one way. I once saw a sick granny bundled in a blanket – delivered by wheelbarrow.

Now, don’t you have a clearer idea of what “access to healthcare” means in Lesotho?

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However, it’s one thing to describe a pregnant, HIV-positive Basotho woman who treks to a remote health clinic each month – to ensure the medication she needs will deliver an HIV-negative baby – versus another pregnant, HIV-positive woman who chooses not to.

Our external audience, though, is more than smart and curious; they’re also skeptical and sophisticated. Are these two women unique? Or part of a broader pattern or trend? To persuade them, we must present concrete facts – evidence, actually – attributed to credible sources. Then, as I teach it, “connect the dots” between this?symbolic?mini-story and “the Big Picture” – whether it be across a community, a country, a region, or even a global pattern.

So, the similarities between foreign correspondence and Communications work were starting to crystalize in my mind: both relying on “humanizing, fact-based storytelling.”?

That said, Lesotho also taught me how not-for-profits fear provoking their “partners.”

Foreign journalists are, generally speaking, committed to exposing the truth. Unfettered to explore all perspectives:?My side, your side, their side. Free to highlight the good, the bad, the ugly. And, when necessary, to point fingers of blame – and even name names.

Communications officers are in a trickier situation: while often impassioned about their mission and the fate of the people they aim to help, their primary commitment is to their?organization?– and a duty to serve its over-riding self-interest.

Yes, storytelling to raise awareness, advocate for change, and measure impact. Yet their story-production may factor in the sensitivities of certain “partners” or stakeholders. Unflattering facts and blame-worthy actions may be?best left unsaid.

Their moral responsibility to bring no harm to beneficiaries may be trumped by an existential responsibility: bring no harm to the organization.

In other words, the published story you see online may reveal just?part?of the reality.

To be fair, imagine a truculent, apathetic government were to allow in?your?health or development group as a “guest.” Not out of hospitality, not because they’re desperate to try?anything?to help their own people, but instead their own self-interest to have you there.

To help them, maybe. Also, for the positive PR: enhanced legitimacy of “international cooperation” in the eyes of their people. So many photo-ops, of local leaders shaking hands with honored foreign visitors. Yet for your non-profit to achieve anything of value – and aim for?sustainability, so that once you leave, all you produce doesn’t wither and die – you have no choice but to gain the “buy-in” of a government “partner.” Usually, the relevant Ministry.

Now, imagine if this partner continually fails to fulfill their end of the bargain. You give second chance after second chance. As frustration mounts, you’re tempted to say something publicly. Or, write critically online. The next day, you may find yourself on the first flight out, expelled from the country. What then for the innocent people you’re trying to assist?

(The threat, I learned first-hand, is real. In August 2014, a?failed coup-attempt convulsed Lesotho. In the months that followed,?my foreign reporting?nearly caused my wife and her boss – both working for a major international organization – to be booted out. As I probed corruption, political violence, the untamed military and other touchy topics, certain forces in the crosshairs assumed, falsely, that my wife’s group was feeding me the stories.)

A European friend of mine in Lesotho, running the country-office for a global health group, described his dilemma, compared with a journalist’s: “It’s something we discuss all the time. ‘When do we speak up, or not? If we speak up, what do we say? And if we speak up, how loudly should we say it?’ But then, what repercussions may come if we do any of this?”

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I first tasted this self-censorship in late 2013, while carrying out a Communications Consultancy to help one American NGO introduce the most sensitive, most controversial anti-HIV strategy in HIV-ravaged Southern Africa:?Voluntary Medical Male Circumcision.

So sensitive, because it entails removing the foreskin from millions of African men. (Reams of research suggests that foreskin-removal reduces the risk of acquiring HIV by 60 percent.) So controversial, because quite a few African nations have their own form of “circumcision.” For the Basotho of Lesotho, it’s?just one element?of a highly secretive, coming-of-age ritual for teenaged boys, carried out over weeks, high in the mountains.

Theirs is a cultural, traditional circumcision connected to identity and manhood. Yet the circumcision advocated by the World Health Organization – and NGOs like?the one that hired me?– is a medical form to protect the health of men, their partners, and their families.

However, within Basotho society, there was so much confusion over this issue, much of it fueled by Basotho traditionalists – and their allies within the Parliament and the media: “But we already have our?own?circumcision! What do we need with?their?circumcision?”

This confusion has real repercussions. Some men and teenage boys who may otherwise be open to a dramatic procedure like VMMC, continue to be dissuaded or discouraged from doing so. In a country of just 1.8 million people, an average of three Basotho are diagnosed with HIV every hour, every day. Who knows how many tragedies could be avoided?

In light of such sensitivities, a highly respected American NGO in Southern Africa – the?Johns Hopkins University-affiliated Jhpiego?– had quietly begun providing?VMMC services in Lesotho. As word spread and more Basotho came forward, Jhpiego was ready to?publicize it nationwide. In a country with no medical school, let alone a journalism school, they accepted my proposal to organize and lead a month-long training for Basotho journalists.

However, I was unaware of the fine print. The government authorities, namely the Ministry of Health, didn’t want to mess with the anti-VMMC traditionalists. Even if it meant perpetuating the harmful confusion about the two circumcisions. They also made clear to Jhpiego – their international “partner” – that they didn’t want us delving into it, either.

“Advocacy” was still new to me, so my goal was to train 15 journalist-colleagues in how to produce various VMMC-related features for their outlets: the doctors, nurses and social-workers on the frontlines; the men and boys undergoing the process; and so on.

While I understood the Communications element – to raise Basotho awareness of the benefits of VMMC – I also considered it important, even obvious, to show my colleagues the need for explanatory journalism, to better inform and educate the audience. To me, this meant clearly distinguishing between the “two circumcisions,” to remove that confusion.

Yet, my Jhpiego colleagues – my paymasters, after all – informed me: Our partners don’t want it, so don’t bring it up. I protested, politely.?Ignore the elephant in the room??This confusion is doing untold harm. If we don’t clarify, don’t we also perpetuate this confusion?

I imagined one Basotho reading a newspaper, coming across a VMMC story produced from our training, then pointing it out to his buddy:?But we have our own circumcision!?My Jhpiego colleagues weren’t pleased with me, though I understood the bind they were in, while doing as much meaningful work as possible. Could I realistically expect them to take a principled stand with the Ministry of Health on this one issue, hoping the government itself would then take a stand with Basotho traditionalists? I climbed down from my soapbox.

My compromise was this: I didn’t broach the subject. But when my colleagues asked me, I discussed it. I wouldn’t self-censor myself to their face. Likewise, I didn’t encourage them to insert a relevant paragraph in their story about Basotho circumcision. If they themselves wanted to include it, then in my critiquing of their story, I helped them present it clearly. But I wasn’t about to censor their piece, like a Communist-era cadre wielding his red pen.

Their?stories appeared, by the way, without incident. Still, from an overall positive experience of helping to promote Basotho health, this issue left a bitter taste in my mouth.

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This is not to knock Communications work as “trafficking in half-truths.” Obviously, I have no qualms about joining in, for the right cause. (It’s not like we’re doing flak work for the tobacco or weapons industries, right?) Yet the fact is, the media?do?typically enjoy greater freedom to name names, unlike the NGOs, governmental and inter-governmental agencies on the ground, who actually do the dirty work of aid-assistance.

While Communications officers tread lightly, dodging landmines, it’s in China today that I’m honing what I consider a wise, effective formula to navigate the fine line between full truth and fuzziness, which edges even closer to journalistic storytelling:?Impact Stories.

For non-profits, such stories are central to the emerging field of?Communications for Development, and appear driven by Internet-fueled transparency and accountability as well as by intensifying pressure to “mobilize resources” and scoop up precious donor-dollars.

In the past, as I understand it, it was often enough for non-profits to report back to funders and justify their spending with something like:?We hosted X number of workshops, held Y number of trainings, attended by Z number of participants. This was the pre-Internet age, though, and such reports typically wound up on a shelf somewhere, collecting dust.

Then, as donor-dollars dwindled and competition grew fierce, non-profits hit upon?Success Stories: from Communications officers, more of a cheerleading, aren’t-we-wonderful PR approach that narrowly focuses on the individuals living happier lives, courtesy of this or that organization. Such stories, still today, rarely “connect the dots,” to indicate whether this one story is unique, or part of a broader and deeper movement toward societal change.

Meanwhile, the field of international-development assistance has produced?a stream of literature?on the stubbornness of “behavioral change.” (In tiny Lesotho, for example, that 23 percent rate of HIV infection among sexually active Basotho hasn’t budged in more than a decade – despite hundreds of millions of dollars invested, by the US, UN and many others.)

Combine that with two other factors: a) every credible non-profit now has its own website, and its savvier audience looks for compelling evidence to prove you’re truly doing a “good work”; and b) mounting pressure on funders to justify why they should keep giving to?you, especially government donors whose taxpayers who can check out your website, too.

So, one by one, more non-profits are embracing a hallowed journalistic principle:?Show?them, don’t just?tell?them. In fact, the show-don't-tell principle is one that?I preach and apply to every form?of effective, convincing writing or argumentation.

One Communications professional, based in Bangkok for a major global aid group, opened my eyes six months ago with her insights:?Our main donors are relatively rich Western governments. As they collect taxes from their relatively poor voters, they’re under greater pressure to justify?whythey send their money overseas to organizations like ours. This means we’re also under greater pressure to justify?how?we spend that money.

One solution, then, are “impact” stories: to somehow measure what deep, meaningful difference – if any – your organization’s programs have had on a community or society. Particularly, what change in attitudes and behaviors? After all, in that training you hosted for, say, 20 people, perhaps they dozed, daydreamed, or chatted online during the sessions. Does mere attendance qualify as success? No:?show?your quantifiable, demonstrable impact.

This is a new path I’d actually begun to pave in my last few months in Lesotho. I produced two dozen impact stories – plus photos – to spotlight how another American NGO,?Management Sciences for Health, had influenced the lives of?Basotho HIV orphans?and their caregivers. The target audience was U.S. lawmakers, who decide whether to keep funding such programs. My stories?were later published?in an E-book. Then came China.

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In Beijing earlier this year, I completed a three-month Communications Consultancy for the UN’s?International Labor Organization. For more than a century, the ILO has advocated for worker’s rights worldwide. (Another worthy cause.) My gig was for?the ILO in China, to help promote their concept of “Decent Work” within the world’s second-largest economy – but also to illuminate the ILO contribution and impact toward achieving that goal.

Concretely, though, how exactly do you measure impact? First, define it: What?is?impact? What would be a desirable impact for?your?group? Establish a benchmark, of sorts. Then, if there’s a shift in attitudes and behaviors – again, if any at all – how to illustrate that?

Could it be new laws or policies? Or, perhaps more court-cases and convictions? If, for example, you teach a community to plant gardens and feed itself, could it be the declining number of beneficiaries who need food handouts? Or, fewer cases of malnutrition?

For the ILO in Beijing, for example,?one adapted global program?brings together factory management, worker representatives, and safety inspectors – three sides with traditionally uneasy relations amid the boom in Chinese manufacturing. Instead, the ILO?convenes the three?to persuade them of the benefits of cooperative “Enterprise Improvement Teams.”

In one test-case, involving five factories in a southern province, it produced a “win-win” over a six-month period: workers identified more than 1,600 safety hazards and ways to improve production; some 1,000 hazards were reportedly resolved, which created a safer workplace while reducing factory healthcare costs; and more efficient production methods had already saved the quintet a combined 25 million Chinese RMB (US$3.8 million).

Once you have such quantifiable?evidence, “put a human face” on that change. Coaching one Chinese ILO expert responsible for that program, I helped her identify a participant who was now a true-believer and advocate: a long-time safety inspector. That’s how we opened her story: “humanizing” the inspector’s earlier experience, then how the program influenced her work with the factories. From there, connect the dots between this real-life, symbolic story and what it says about “The Big Picture” of this program and its impact.

(The ILO has yet to publish that story. But two others have been: click?here?and?here.)

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Yet that’s just one step of the?Impact Story?process. This trial-balloon program could only have worked because the government-authority “partners” and factory-management “partners” were open to trying it, and allowed it to happen. Yet, there are almost always impediments to even broader and deeper change.?Why not scale-up nationwide ... immediately??Whether intentional or unintentional, the obstacles may come from your “partner.” Moreover, partners are, unsurprisingly, quite sensitive to public criticism.

That’s why mine is a two-part formula that revolves around a one-line narrative:?Country/government/partner ABC has achieved X, Y and Z ... yet more challenges remain.

This aims to pre-empt the partner’s howls of unfair criticism. In fact, I think it’s perfectly fair, because it gives credit where credit is due. It’s easy enough to look at some worrying trend and dismissively declare:?Nothing’s being done! But is that really true? Is it accurate?

Probably not. In all likelihood, at least?something?has been done. So, start with the positive. You’d wisely take a similarly psycho-diplomatic with any friend, colleague, student, or even your child – if you hope to extract better behavior: If all negative, they shut down. First highlight the positive, to emphasize your fairness and even-handedness.

Then:?More challenges remain. Again, that seems very reasonable. No one’s perfect, right? We all have something we could or should improve about ourselves. Unless, of course, you’re dealing with a thin-skinned government utterly intolerant of any criticism.

Even then, most countries recognize that the international non-profits they welcome in can’t be an absolute arm for your propaganda machinery. They have some obligation to reveal the reality. Otherwise, they lose credibility – and perhaps donor support.

From the non-profits perspective, if you effectively illuminate your impact so far – and spotlight what challenges remain, and why – that’s quite a convincing case you can make to past, current or prospective donors:?Help us continue the meaningful work we do.

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I like this one-line, two-part Communications narrative so much – for its strategic caution and defensible even-handedness – that I’m also applying it to the International Journalism I now teach in Beijing, at one of China’s finest schools:?Renmin University.

In a China that has pulled a remarkable 600 million out of poverty over recent decades – thanks largely to a coal-fired economic transformation that has also spawned some of the world’s worst air-pollution – I’m leading 20 Chinese graduate students through an “Environmental Storytelling” project that will soon be published, online, in English.

Such a subject could easily lead to finger-pointing – and potential trouble, for me, my students, and the university itself. So, we proceed with great caution: again, emphasizing what’s been achieved so far, what challenges remain, etc. (More on this in a separate essay.)

Living in China, though, I must never forget: I’m a guest. Permitted to stay, courtesy of the government’s hospitality. If you insult your host, why shouldn’t they kick you out of their home? At the same time, some?criticize the treatment?of foreign and domestic media.?Foreign NGOs also grumble?about?a new law?that places them under the purview of the police and restricts support?for domestic NGOs. Beijing’s?official response?seems to be:?Don’t exaggerate.

That said, as a Communications Consultant, a real test for me would be if I came across a non-profit client who, either they themselves had literally zero results, zero quantifiable impact; or, their government partner lacked any such evidence. Yet, this client wanted me to conjure something positive out of thin air. Outright lies? That’d be a bridge too far, for me.

No doubt, I’m a dedicated advocate of the truth – at least, to bring to light as much truth as is possible, to raise awareness, advocate for certain issues, and so on. From what I see, the bottom line – for so many vulnerable non-profits in the developing world – is that illuminating?some, or?much, of the reality, even with certain limits or restrictions, is preferable to not spotlighting?any?of the reality.

I agree: concerning humankind’s great challenges,?some?truth is better than?no?truth.

But it’s also when a non-profit hits the limit of the full truth that it’s time to pitch a story to the regional foreign correspondent – so they can publish all the things you can’t. ;)

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International Journalism Vs. International Communications