I have covered the Latur earthquake, the Firozabad train accident and the Beed plague outbreak. Each assignment was different. The common element was human suffering. People had lost members of their family, their homes or their sense of safety. The reporter had arrived because it was news. For the person facing the camera, it was life coming apart.

That difference matters.

When reporters discuss a major disaster, the conversation quickly turns to access, pictures, deadlines and the need to get the story on air. All of these are real pressures. A television report needs pictures. A reporter must speak to people. A newsroom cannot wait forever. But none of this answers the harder question: how do you gather what the public needs to know without treating grief as raw material?

I do not claim that I always found the perfect answer. In Latur, I saw journalists ask victims again and again about the death of their near and dear ones. The questions made people relive what had happened. My own method felt less intrusive at the time. I stood nearby with the camera rolling, waited for a person to speak, and took the conversation forward from there.

Was that enough? Perhaps it helped me clear my conscience. The camera was still present. I was still waiting for a grieving person to give me the story.

That admission is important because broadcast ethics becomes very easy when we discuss only the mistakes of other journalists.

The reporter's strange protective gear

A reporter at a disaster site develops a temporary ability to keep moving. There may be long hours, difficult conditions and sights that would ordinarily stop a person in his tracks. Yet the questions continue. The piece to camera is recorded. The next location is reached.

Adrenaline has a role in this. You put your feelings aside because the story has to be told. I hesitate to kill even an insect, but during my reporting years I often found myself around death and suffering. A different gear would take over. The feelings did not disappear. They arrived later.

The Society of Professional Journalists makes a useful distinction in its ethics code: legal access to information is not the same as an ethical justification to publish or broadcast it. The News Broadcasters & Digital Association's Indian code makes a related point. Accuracy must take precedence over speed, and channels must take precautions when showing pain, fear or suffering.

These principles sound formal in a document. At a disaster site, they have to become simple decisions.

Ask what the interview is doing

Before approaching a survivor, a reporter can ask: What information can this person provide that the story genuinely needs? Has somebody from the same newsroom already asked the question? Is the person in a position to choose? Can the interview wait?

The manner of asking also matters. Introduce yourself. Explain why the camera is there. Do not promise an outcome the newsroom cannot deliver. Give the person room to refuse. If the answer stops, do not treat the silence as an obstacle that must be broken.

The same test applies in the edit room. A distressing visual may be true and still be unnecessary. Ask what the shot proves. Ask whether a wider frame, a shorter duration or a spoken description can carry the fact without displaying a person's worst moment. The public interest is not measured by how difficult a picture is to watch.

Facts are also a form of respect

Compassion cannot become an excuse for loose reporting. In the aftermath of a catastrophe, numbers change, identifications take time and early explanations are often incomplete. A reporter who repeats an unverified figure may add confusion to grief. A dramatic label such as “the biggest” may be wrong before the day is over.

Check and cross-check. Attribute preliminary figures. State clearly what is not yet known. Reuters puts the principle plainly in its standards: accuracy and balance take precedence over speed. That rule is especially important when every channel is racing with the same pictures.

It also protects the victims. A wrong name, an incorrect casualty figure or an unsupported allegation can travel far beyond the first bulletin. The correction rarely travels with the same force.

What remains after the live shot

Journalists leave the site. The people in the story remain. This is why a disaster report should not end with the most emotional interview available. It should ask who was responsible, what warning failed, what relief has reached the area, what is still missing and whether official promises were kept after the cameras moved away.

I still believe difficult events must be reported. Turning the camera away from suffering will not make suffering disappear. But we should not confuse showing everything with telling the truth.

The question I would ask a young reporter is the one I continue to ask myself: if the person in front of the camera were from your own family, would you ask the question in the same way? If the answer is no, stop. Think. Then find a better way to report the story.

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