Line Vaaben, existential editor at Politiken and a mentor at the trauma and resilience retreat by The Global Center for Journalism and Trauma and iMEdD, reflects on why journalists who cover trauma must dare to be wounded.
Featured image: Evgenios Kalofolias
From hoping for impact to designing for impact
The onus is on us, journalists, to engage audiences where they are, whether it is video platforms or offline spaces in community libraries, art venues, and school cafeterias.
The theme for the conversation I’ll be leading at the upcoming European Journalist Retreat on trauma, resilience and ethical reporting is vulnerability – something that as a journalist who covers trauma, I think a lot about. The word comes from Latin: “vulnus”, which means “wound” or “injury”, and “vulnerare” which means to wound.
So, vulnerability means being able to be wounded. Something we typically do everything we can to avoid. Yet, as journalists, it is something we often ask of our sources. And something, I would argue, that journalists covering trauma need to do.
At the daily newspaper Politiken in Denmark, I hold the title “existential editor.” This means I write stories about what it means to be human. At the existential desk, we cover social welfare, health, abortion, adoption, environment, crime, gender and everything in between. We write about death, and we write about love –always with human beings at the core of our stories. Why do our articles get so much traction?
I think it has to do with the trace of a human voice. Because even though artificial intelligence has a lot of power, there are many things that robots can’t do; because, essentially, they are not humans.
Vulnerability means being able to be wounded. Something we typically do everything we can to avoid. Yet, as journalists, it is something we often ask of our sources.
The human touch is our superpower and a way of connecting with audiences –helping them understand, interpret, and mirror the world they live in. But it often comes with a cost, both for the people whose stories we tell and for us as journalists.
For more than 25 years, I’ve been exploring the deep complexity of the darkest human conditions. And when I first joined a fellowship with The Global Center for Journalism and Trauma, I was already experienced in trauma journalism. What I hoped to gain was knowledge about and tools to care for the people I met. What I didn’t expect was to be faced with my own vulnerability.
After the fellowship, I became more in tune with my physical and emotional reactions when reporting. I started feeling the wounds and injuries of my work. Returning to my workplace, I cursed this new version of myself, because, in some ways, it made my work harder. But I couldn’t go back to just clenching my teeth.
So, I leaned into a routine of selfcare, and though it took some adjustments, it paid off. Being more vulnerable didn’t make me less capable or competent. Since instituting a selfcare regimen, I have produced prize-winning work and advanced in my career.
Vulnerability is a strength we can leverage to captivate our readers, connect with the people we portray, and stay connected to ourselves. It doesn’t make us weaker, or less effective, or less impactful. Quite the contrary.
Line Vaaben will dive deeper into this as a mentor at the trauma and resilience retreat to be held in October 2026 in Vamvakou, Laconia, Greece by The Global Center for Journalism and Trauma and iMEdD.
