“You will never understand.”

Photo by Conner Wild

A few weeks ago I went on a three-day retreat with Bethel Lutheran Church’s Homeless Spiritual Support Group, as a reporter. I wrote an article about the retreat for Street Pulse.

Reflecting on the trip now, I realize I learned more about myself as a journalist than anything about homelessness. A conversation I had with Susan Cotton illuminated something I had been struggling with as a journalist for years.

“When you’re homeless, your whole mindset is completely different than if you’re in the mainstream of society,” she said. “Unless you’re homeless, you cannot understand the mindset of a homeless person…. You’d actually have to be homeless, walk in our shoes, or we can’t possibly explain how it feels to be homeless. We can explain it ad infinitum but unless you’ve actually walked in our shoes you will never understand. And that’s the unfortunate thing.”

“I’d be interested in trying that,” I said.

I imagined spending a week without money on the streets, in the shelters, at free meals. I had imagined it before, but ethical dilemmas and shelter restrictions had always dampened my plans early. I hoped Susan could help. But she cut me off early.

“But you know unless you’re actually, jobless, homeless, you really wouldn’t…”

“So it would be impossible for me…”

“No, you couldn’t. You just cannot understand. You just can’t.”

At that point, at the peak of my frustration, I felt incredibly useless and stupid. I already felt invasive and voyeuristic for coming on the retreat in the first place, but I felt my work would justify my presence. I would spend three days in the woods with a group of homeless people, come to understand something significant about homelessness, and deliver this understanding to Madison. I would humanize homelessness and maybe influence a few people to do something about it.

Now it was clear I would never understand. And who was I to try? The closest I’ve ever come to homelessness was moving in with my grandparents in their upper-class suburban home. What right do I have to pull out my recorder, camera and notebook, and capture their humanity for all to see? They don’t need me. They don’t want me.

The next day, I brought my concerns back to Susan. She started to cry, sensing my desperation.

“Oh, honey, you have a purpose,” she said. “You are important.”

I did not take notes during this conversation, but I remember very clearly what she told me. She told me that my gift is writing. Everyone has an important story to tell the world, but not everyone knows how to tell it. It’s my job to translate stories to articles and action. It’s not my job to understand everything. It’s okay if I don’t understand everything. I never will understand everything.

I was surprised to feel a tear welling in my own eye. I needed someone to tell me that. I needed her to tell me that. Every journalism teacher or mentor I’ve had has always pushed me to understand more, and to write only what I know. And this is certainly a good principle. But like every principle that exists in academia, it is complicated in the real world. Sometimes you’re a white middle-class college student interviewing a black working-class homeless person, and you are simply not going to understand the barriers that person has faced. You can’t let that discourage you.

Remember your audience. Sometimes your limitations are your greatest asset as a journalist. If you’re writing something worthwhile, your audience will likely not understand the subject as well as your sources. Interviewing and writing from this perspective can help you introduce your readers to the subject in a way that is meaningful to them. The best you can do is listen as openly as you can, be transparent about what you don’t understand, and let your source’s voice speak as clearly as possible through your prose.

Advertisement