Q&A: A Political Correspondent and a Video Journalist on Upholding Ethics in Journalism

(MONTREAL, CANADA) — I’ve followed Sarah McCammon‘s work since reading her NPR article about the maternal health crisis in Gaza in January 2024. As an NPR National Correspondent, she often covers polarizing topics, such as U.S. elections, the role of religion in today’s political landscape, and reproductive rights. But it was her connection to the evangelical community that inspired me to ask her questions about ethics in journalism. I wondered how she navigates reporting on a topic so close to her personal life. In several articles and her book, “The Exvangelicals: Loving, Living, and Leaving the White Evangelical Church,” she explores why many people have given up evangelical Christianity and the broader societal impact of this movement.

Oona Barrett, a Concordia University graduate, is now working as a video journalist for Pivot, a Quebec-based independent progressive publication. She covers a wide range of social issues, from protests to going undercover at an Israeli real estate event where land in colonies considered illegal under international law was being sold, to living in a Rohingya refugee camp to produce a report on the ongoing humanitarian crisis. As a journalist covering sensitive social issues, I wanted to ask her how she balances telling the truth about what she’s reporting with the safety and dignity of the subjects in front of her camera.

My phone conversation with McCammon and my Instagram voice message conversation with Barrett, which have been edited for length and clarity, are below.

Interview with Sarah McCammon, NPR National Correspondent and co-host of the NPR Politics Podcast

Can you share one or more examples of an ethical dilemma you have faced as a journalist?

There are rules about how you interact with sources. For example, conversations about when it’s okay to accept a meal or a coffee. I tend to strictly refuse anything because it’s easier to keep things clean. An exception would be if you’re at a big event and there’s coffee or something. But I wouldn’t usually go beyond that. If I’m out somewhere where there’s payment involved, I always pay for myself. People will often just be polite; they’re not necessarily trying to manipulate or persuade you of something. I always have to politely explain that we don’t accept meals or anything from sources, and then we move on.

I’m remembering a funny story at the very beginning of my career. I was writing about a fundraiser for an organization that helped children with heart conditions. There was a little boy, who must be 30 years old today, who had a sibling who passed away from a heart condition and was participating in the fundraiser. I interviewed his family about how they tried to help others in similar situations. It was around the time that I got married, and suddenly, one day, the boy and his mother showed up at the newspaper office with a giant flat package. I was like, “What is this?” They told me it was my wedding gift. It was a Frisbee! Technically, accepting the gift was against the rules because it was a gift from a source, but my editor confirmed that, in this case, it was OK to accept it. With ethics, there are rules and principles and guidelines, but there’s also common sense where rational decision-making comes in. 

This was simply a charitable act, the story was already finished. A larger principle is at play sometimes: politeness and kindness. In this case, rejecting a Frisbee from a little boy just seemed silly. But I was transparent with my editor. We talked about it and he said to go for it. I don’t think I ever used the Frisbee.

Occasionally, I’ve had someone prepare a meal in their home. I’m not going to refuse a meal in someone’s home, especially if I’ve come to interview them about something that’s happened in their life and they want to share that meal and that time with me. The important thing is just to be mindful of some boundaries you don’t violate. 

Another example is that I once had a reproductive rights organization offer me a press trip to visit clinics and learn more about reproductive healthcare. I turned it down because that was a significant amount of money. It wasn’t appropriate to accept from an advocacy group. 

Regarding your book, “The Exvangelicals: Loving, Living, and Leaving the White Evangelical Church,” were there any ethical considerations you weighed when sharing personal stories or criticizing the movement you belonged to growing up?

Yes. It’s part memoir, so there’s, admittedly, a degree of subjectivity there. And of course, it’s personal, but I tried as much as possible to approach the writing like a journalist. You know, there were some difficult passages in the book about my family and me; I talked to family members about those in advance and sought their input because that’s what I would do with anybody I was writing about in a way that might be seen as critical.

I also tried to stick to factual information as much as possible when describing what happened to me and to other people. I did a ton of research, you know, primary source research and secondary source research, quoting from documents, books, and other media from the evangelical world that shaped my life and the lives of millions of other people like me who grew up in that subculture.

I’m very happy being a journalist. I’m not an advocate. I don’t want to be an advocate. My book isn’t meant to tell anybody what to think, what to believe, who to vote for, how to pray, or whether to pray. It’s simply a description of my journey and the journeys of other people I have met along the way who’ve had a similar path to explain what it’s like to grow up in the evangelical subculture and why it’s both difficult to leave for a lot of people and why a lot of people are leaving. I felt that I had a life experience that was relevant to a lot of the issues that I found myself covering as a reporter, issues that a lot of people are interested in today because of the importance of the evangelical movement in our politics and culture.

As a journalist, I usually try to keep myself out of the story, but in this space, I can’t do that. I can’t really sit on the sidelines because I have a deep history with this movement and this world, and I saw myself as a kind of tour guide for people who wanted to understand how politics connects with theology.

When handling sensitive subjects like tragedy or trauma, like in the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting you covered, how do you go about interviewing people who are close to the event while respecting their privacy and their dignity?

In those kinds of situations, a lot of the time, people don’t want to talk, understandably. Let’s go back to an ethical dilemma earlier in my career where I felt like I made the wrong decision. At my first newspaper job, I remember a story where a teenager was killed in a car accident. An editor asked me to reach out to the family for comments, which I did, and they said they did not want to speak to me. I was then asked to go to their home, knock on the door, and ask again. And I don’t think this is uncommon in journalism. I’ve talked to other journalists about similar experiences because there was a lot of pressure, especially in local news, to get the story.

I went, and the family was very angry that I had come; they didn’t want to talk to me, and I felt terrible about it. I still wrestle with whether that was the right decision. Part of me thinks I should have pushed back harder with my editor and not gone. I don’t feel like it was appropriate. At the time, I was a young journalist, and that was part of the job. Of course, once they said no the second time, I left; I didn’t push it further. But it’s a tricky decision, and when I think about that moment, I don’t feel good about it. I wish I hadn’t done it. I wish I hadn’t gone to their home after they said no on the phone. I wish I had had a longer conversation with my editor, but we were on deadline. The directive was clear. I was in my very first job. I didn’t feel like I could say no. 

At this stage of my career, I approach people gently. I think that for every person that says “No, leave me alone” or “No, I can’t”, there are people who are grateful that their story is being told, that their grief is being witnessed, and there are people who want to say something about their loved one or want to say something about what happened to them. That’s powerful. You have to approach it sensitively. It might mean a lot of asking and needing a thick skin and being prepared for rejection. You need to hone your emotional intelligence as much as possible. Learn to read people. I certainly haven’t always done it perfectly, but that’s what I strive for. Many people I’ve talked to in moments of grief have told me it felt good to get it out of their system, that it felt good to talk to someone they wanted the world to know what it was like. That’s very meaningful for me. 

After Pittsburgh, I did a story about a couple of rabbis I spoke to about the tragedy. The story was basically about traditional mourning practices, a story that was hopefully respectful and honoring the tradition of the people affected by this tragedy. It also allowed me to talk to some leaders about what they were doing and how they were feeling. The story was pretty much focused on the rabbis and communities there. It was really moving to hear about how these leaders were comforting their people and how their religious faith and community responded to the tragedy. I feel for those religious leaders and counselors. Their job is to basically,  walk people through these tragedies. And they can be compelling voices. But then, I think about the burden that they must be carrying, too.

Have you ever decided not to publish something because of ethical reasons, for example, feeling very strongly about the subject?

I have occasionally said I did not want to cover something because it was either too close to me or too close to people I care about, There have also been times I didn’t understand the situation well enough to cover it intelligently. I once or twice decided not to disclose information about patients when covering abortion issues, even if they were willing to share it. In those instances, we felt sharing certain information was unnecessary to protect our sources. We didn’t want to put them at risk, physically or professionally. We have to adhere to specific ethical standards: We don’t use anonymous sources very much, and doing so requires an editor’s approval. I have to be clear with my sources and let them know that if I can’t name them, it’s possible that I won’t get permission to publish the story. Or that I cannot include them in it anonymously. These are complicated ethical considerations; sometimes, some reporting never sees the light of day because it can’t get there. That doesn’t happen a lot, but it’s always a possibility.

Interview with Oona Barrett, a video journalist for Pivot, a social justice-focused independent publication

Have you ever chosen not to publish something for ethical reasons?

Not really. But I’ve been cautious about deciding whether or not to publish specific recordings. For example, when I attended an Israeli real estate fair in Montreal while being undercover — I thought hard about using specific recordings before including them in the reportage. Since you’re at a meeting undercover, you’re recording people without their knowledge. As a journalist, you need to publish these recordings only if there’s a particular value in revealing them to the public. You can’t just publish audio recordings made without people’s knowledge unless there’s a public interest behind it. In this case, I needed to prove that Palestinian land was being sold in Montreal. There, it seemed ethical to reveal those recordings.

How do you approach sensitive topics, such as tragedies or trauma, while respecting the privacy and dignity of those involved, for example, when creating your video reportage on the Rohingya refugee camp in Bangladesh?

It all comes down to consent. It’s essential to have long off-camera discussions with the people you’re interviewing to create a connection and show that they can trust you, even though you’re a journalist. I build this relationship before turning the camera on. It’s very important to me that the person knows they can stop at any moment; if they want to revisit a question, it’s no problem, and we can take breaks. I always try to reassure them before the interview, especially when dealing with sensitive topics.

When dealing with trauma, it’s incredibly important to make the person feel comfortable. You tell me what you want to say and stop whenever you want. It’s very important not to push them into saying something they don’t want to. The same goes for image rights — talking to the person before filming them is critical, even though it can be complicated sometimes. In the Rohingya refugee camp, for example, there were sometimes 15 people in the frame. You work with eye contact and smiles if you can’t speak to them all at once.

It’s worth noting that if you want to report ethically, you must take your time. The problem with many journalists is that we rarely have or take that time; we always rush to gather information. The more rushed you are, the more you’re chasing the news, the less likely you are to produce an ethical report. For instance, if you don’t take the time to make the person in front of you feel comfortable.

Can you describe a time when you faced an ethical dilemma while reporting?

When people return to you after an interview has been published and no longer want certain statements to be included, that’s a complicated situation. Usually, they can’t go back on what they’ve said on the record. They consented to reveal certain information at that moment. As a journalist, you think, “It’s recorded, I can use it.” We’re not supposed to cut anything. I’ve made exceptions in the past when, for example, it could put the person in danger or if it could impact an ongoing trial.