How journalists sometimes erase disability’s complexity before we even start

How journalists sometimes erase disability’s complexity before we even start

As I said earlier in this section, we consider how to approach a story idea before we even pitch. We also consider the right sources for the story (see Sources), the credibility and priorities of our initial source, our potential lead, what we want our audience to take from the story and whether now is the right time to cover the story. We consider the newsworthiness of our subject, whether it fits in with our beat and whether we can find on-the-record sources. We also consider visuals and audio. Thus we ask:

• Will we be able to shoot an event as it happens? If not, are there alternatives that will engage our audience?
• Can we find sources willing to appear on camera or on air?
  Will those people look and sound compelling and clear?
• Will they speak in ways that make sense for a 15-second sound bite?

If we are in editing or production roles, we make similar calculations when deciding whether to accept a pitch as delivered, reject it outright or ask the reporter to come back with more information.

• Do we have room on our sked?
• Is the proposed format the best way to tell this story?
• Will our audience be interested?
• Is it timely or evergreen?
• What are our coverage priorities right now: Does this story fit, and will it get attention in the current news cycle?
• If our staff is working on this, what are they not working on?
• Will the story take a long time to produce?
• Is it resource-intensive?
• Has the person who is pitching demonstrated the skills necessary to pull off a story like this, or might they require mentoring or coaching?
• If they might need coaching, do we have people who have not only the skills but also the time to do that?
• Will we be able to do this with our staff, or will we need freelance support?
• Do we need to send our reporters, sound people and camera people anywhere else, and what are the logistics?
• Could a competitor beat us to the punch?
• Will this story require in-depth investigation or rely on access to confidential information?
• If allegations of wrongdoing are made, will we be able to contact those accused?
• Is the story likely to inspire legal action? Is the story going to put us or our sources at risk?
• Bluntly, do we have the money to do this?[1]

Of course, we’re hardly ever certain of all the answers to such questions at the outset, and reporting challenges don’t always mean we shouldn’t go ahead, but these questions will be in the back of our minds when considering where to commit resources. These questions are part of the job and baked in to the process[2]. Most of us probably aren’t consciously going through this entire list every time, except possibly at story meetings with a team of editors, reporters and producers. We bring these questions to any story and then make judgment calls about whether the stories are feasible — and those calls, thanks to the nature of journalistic coverage, have to be quick.

I admit to feeling stung when my friends in disability and/or other marginalized communities refer to journalists as lazy; the friends often say that in response to stories they felt missed the mark because the reporters didn’t interview the right sources or failed to capture the complexity and nuance of the situation. No, I want to say, what journalists are is busy and short on time, often in more than one sense. Want another 10 or 15 seconds in a newscast or another paragraph in the paper? We journalists usually have to fight for that. And, although this is changing somewhat as more news shifts to a digital environment, if we win more time and space, another story loses. What a source might see as a story flattening their remarks or taking them out of context could represent hours of advocacy by a reporter to their editor for including the source in the final version of the piece.

But journalists being pressed for time doesn’t mean we journalists have an excuse to simplify to the point of untruth, present someone’s words or positions without context, or decide before we even meet a source what it is we’re looking to extract from them. Often, I see stories framed with the “expert” sources used for the factual element of a story, and a disabled person is used for emotion or “colour commentary.” It is beyond disheartening to sit down with a reporter, spend a long time talking about your private medical issues, your family, your financial situation and other information generally considered private, to explain how a policy impacts your life, to suggest proposed solutions and then see your contribution reduced to one quotation that amounts to “This makes me sad.” Moreover, it is disrespectful. Journalists should be respectful of any source’s time and willingness to speak, whether they are a disabled person on social assistance or a federal cabinet minister (and we have had a few disabled cabinet ministers).

Because we journalists have to be quick, we sometimes choose what’s easy for us in the moment. When we’re pressed for time on a script, it’s easy to fall into a kind of cultural shorthand, giving emotions such as anger or despair primacy and treating them as a default, discussing “overcoming” disability when our sources have done no such thing, or reaching out not to a disabled person but instead to caregivers because we consider them more accessible and easier to empathize with. We tend to look for the easiest sources we can find, not necessarily the best. We also tend to think first of people we have seen before whether that’s an activist or expert who appears frequently on the news, a spokesperson or communications officer for an organization, someone whose writing we’ve seen and liked, or a disabled person who is already famous — basically, someone who has proven they are the kind of person audiences will relate and listen to.

While this approach is certainly understandable, given the pressures of our jobs, it doesn’t always make for the best story. People who are well-known to the media tend to have the resources necessary to get media interested in the first place and the ability to accommodate journalists’ schedules.

For example, in the summer of 2024, when I wrote the first draft of this section, there had been many stories about the terrible treatment of disabled people by airlines: wheelchair damage was common, and unsafe transfers on and off airplanes seemed to be happening more and more, while compensation for these dangerous experiences was either non-existent or so low as to be insulting. In May 2024, the federal government hosted a National Aviation Accessibility Summit in Ottawa; it led to many recommendations[3].

This was and continues to be an important story. A person’s wheelchair getting lost or damaged can have serious consequences, including pain, loss of mobility, serious injury, or death. One example is the case of Engracia Figueroa, an American activist who died after her custom wheelchair was damaged severely and she developed pressure sores as a result[4]. The trauma these experiences cause and the contempt with which the airlines treated their passengers can’t be overstated. But as writer Gabrielle Peters pointed out on social media, these stories are about a limited segment of the disabled community: those who are wealthy enough to buy an airline ticket. Many disabled people in Canada are living in extreme poverty and need to choose between food, rent and medication. At the time of writing, the federal government had not called an Extreme Poverty Summit, nor had it called anyone to testify before Parliament to answer for the actions that led to this situation. (Since social-assistance rates are provincial, the federal government alone cannot act to raise them, but there are ways it could make change if it wanted to.) How people get on and off planes is an important subject, but focusing our efforts as journalists on that subject alone might mean missing other stories about the people who can’t get on planes at all[5].