When We Lose a Journalist

The world jolts, and suddenly its people turn their eyes to the news. During the Boston Marathon bombings, Hurricane Katrina, the World Trade Center attacks, and so on, we trusted journalists—another type of first responders—to inform us.

The argument almost goes without saying. The free flow of knowledge allows citizens to make informed decisions, to be politically aware, and to hold their representatives accountable. It provides for security as well as justice. To know to evacuate a city or to stay inside our homes until further notice, to know the description of a violent person or the description of a missing victim, we rely on the news. To see political corruption, financial collapse, or protest thousands of miles from our homes, again, we rely on the news.

But when we think of the news, the press, and the media, we see them in the abstract—as institutions rather than as individual men and women. This summer, we were reminded of reality.

The deaths of James W. Foley and Steven J. Sotloff should teach us the great debt we owe to journalists: Their shocking, undeserved executions show us that the information journalists provide us comes at a grave cost. Journalists who have put their lives on the line are nothing less than heroes.

If the press is an entity necessary for a just world and the journalist is the agent of that entity, the journalist should garner the utmost respect. Journalists make it their mission to expose information for the good of the public, at a great risk. Foley’s mother, after the Islamic State released footage of his death, wrote, “We have never been prouder of our son… He gave his life trying to expose the world to the suffering of the Syrian people.” Sotloff’s sister saw her brother much the same way. In a letter to him, she said, “You are my hero because you learned to write and had your voice heard.” These fallen journalists worked so that the world could see what was happening on the ground in Syria. That work, in a foul twist of fate, took their lives as they became not only observers but also victims of the conflict they sought to expose.

Sotloff wrote for Foreign Policy, “The civilians of Aleppo are trapped in a violent stalemate, left to endure a war whose suffering and hardships grow larger with every passing day. ... [P]eople in Aleppo fear they are stage players in a war with no end in sight.” If Sotloff and Foley are understood only as pawns in the Islamic State’s sick game and not as sources of investigative journalism to be read and admired, then they too become stage players in the Syrian conflict much like the people of Aleppo.

As homage to Foley and Sotloff, then, and in recognition of the great value of their sacrifice, it’s important to just look at the difference their work made. Foley, providing a key insight into American involvement abroad, discovered correspondence that showed cooperation between the CIA and Gaddafi. After being captured in Libya and then released, Foley returned to the field to film the Syrian Army’s assault on its citizens. Sotloff’s powerful narrative voice described the anguish of Libyan rebels about to face Gaddafi’s forces, and adversaries uniting to defend democratic elections.

Every day, journalists risk their lives in order to protect the values that we hold dear. They stand with the people of Aleppo, the victims of Katrina, and with the firemen of New York. They cover riots in Hong Kong, Ebola outbreaks in Western Africa, and shootings here at home. A soldier sacrifices the peace of mind that most enjoy—that there are not constant, immediate threats to their life. Journalists like Foley and Sotloff make that same sacrifice. For that, they are heroes, and I thank them.

Samir H. Durrani ’17 is a Crimson editorial writer living in Currier House.