Global Communications (Chapter 14): Skills, Strategies & Storytelling Across Four Continents - My Life As An International Journalist

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Psychology of Interviewing

Do you want fresh skills and strategies for how to #interview others? Whether it's for a journalistic story, Communications content, or any other purpose? This is a two-chapter guide: below, I describe how to approach potential interviewees - and prepare for #interviewing them; next, Chapter 15 will focus on the Interview skills themselves - including, different categories of questions we can ask. This book presents my #MJMethod, a toolkit that applies #InternationalJournalism to #GlobalCommunications. Part textbook, part travelogue, part memoir, it aims to help you communicate persuasively and impactfully with any audience.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Psychology of Interviewing

In August 2013, after leading another group of international participants through my reporting project for the TOL Foreign Correspondent Training Course in Prague, I wrote an essay about a revelation: I can teach nearly everything about journalism, yet pinpointed three things I can’t teach:

Curiosity. Empathy. Life experience. I’ll soon republish that essay, below, as context for our next topic: interviews. While this trio are key components of storytelling, they’re also fundamental elements of interviewing – for how to orient our thinking as we approach our subject and the interviewing process; then, how to extract deep, illuminating material from our interviewees.

Empathy is especially crucial. As I explained in Chapter Five: What Audiences Need, it’s always important to empathetically imagine the perspective of those with whom we communicate, whether it’s our editor, our audience, or now, the person we’ll interview: how they might respond to us; how they actually respond to us; how we hope they’ll respond to us; how we counter-respond; and so on.

Without striving to imagine ourselves in the shoes of our target-audience, we fire blindly with the ammunition of our words – messages, evidence, anecdotes, etc. As I’ve emphasized from the beginning of this book, this isn’t mere Communications. It’s another form of Strategic Communications.

The previous two chapters centered on the skills and strategies to produce and polish the most persuasive pitches for editors – and most impactful stories for our audience. Particularly, how to explore and unearth the most meaningful research and credible evidence, to support those stories.

Now, over these next two chapters, we shift from that fact-gathering process to another crucial element of our storytelling: I’ll span the entire process of the interview. First, here in Chapter Fourteen, the intellectual and emotional tools you need to carry out a successful interview; the steps we take to professionally prepare for an interview; how to grasp the psychology of who we want to interview; and how to effectively and persuasively approach them. I even include my template for interview-requests.

Next, Chapter Fifteen: Interviewing Skills delves into the specifics of an interview itself, with my step-by-step skills and strategies to produce a more illuminating interview and extract high-quality content. I’ll even share the wide range of questions we can – even should – ask our subjects. However, before we get to the step-by-step skills and strategies to produce a more revealing interview, I’ll start by republishing that introspective August 2013 essay.

Three Things I Can’t Teach

I’ll never forget my sister’s reaction, when I told her ten years ago of my plan to teach journalism, too. To paraphrase, she wondered: What’s to teach? All reporters need is a pen and pad, to write down what’s happening. Right? She herself is a family doctor, who’d absorbed a mind-boggling amount of specific material to become one. She wasn’t trying to offend me, or to denigrate my craft.

Yet her words gave me a greater appreciation of all there is to teach about journalism. I began to mull more deeply not only how I do what I do, but why exactly I do it this way: from philosophy and psychology to strategies and techniques, in my research, reporting, interviewing and writing. Or, when handling sources, editors and others.

On the flip side – now that I’ve taught students and trained journalists on four continents – I’ve also identified what I cannot teach about journalism. Just three things, really. But they’re biggies, of course: curiosity, empathy and life experience. Fresh from leading my latest foreign-correspondence training in Prague, I’m reminded why each one is also essential to producing the most meaningful, most effective storytelling from faraway lands.

Curiosity

It sounds trite to state that a journalist must be curious and ask loads of questions. Yes, but why exactly is this so important – especially in international reporting?

If our noble aim is to better inform and educate an audience about some aspect of the human condition, far beyond the audience’s own borders, then we should do so with “serious and responsible, deep and meaningful” journalism. This can only be achieved by asking enough questions to reveal a certain reality. Which we can only achieve by first being inquisitive enough to want to reveal that reality.

Curiosity, then, is at the core of our skill-set. It’s either there, or it isn’t. I can help you hone it, for sure, but at least a kernel must exist already. Without curiosity, you can still produce a form of journalism, but one that will be awfully superficial, merely scratching the surface. It’s the essential difference between describing what a situation is, versus exploring why exactly that situation is the way it is.

Take the issue of Czech atheism. Every six months, at least one participant in our Prague course stumbles upon this fascinating factoid about the Czechs: they always rank among the most atheistic peoples in the world. In this course, a young Canadian reporter sank her teeth into the complexity of another nation’s religiosity.

Now, any decent journalism-school student can comprehend, then capture, the “Five W’s and H” of basic reporting: Who, What, Why, When, Where and How. Like a court stenographer, documenting the straight, simple facts of a story. But yours truly has discovered a sixth W – the holy grail of serious journalism: Why exactly?

Imagine the difference between these two articles: Story A details the latest polls and studies of the trends in Czech religiosity today, then the reaction of various experts and activists. Story B explains why exactly the trends are the way they are since the collapse of Communism; a bit of background on the history of Czech atheism; where this atheism began, why exactly there; how Czech atheism evolved, why exactly it evolved the way it evolved; what’s happened to Czech religiosity since the collapse of Communism, why exactly it’s evolved that way.

Moreover, what the reaction of Czechs experts and activists is, why exactly they react that way; what’s being done about Czech atheism today, why exactly that’s being done; how Czech atheism compares with fellow post-Communist neighbors, why exactly it differs; and so on. From Story A, sure, our reader could ingest a morsel worthy of water-cooler chatter: Hey, Charlie, did you know the Czechs are among the most atheistic in the world? … Really? Why is that? … Um, I dunno. I just read that they are …

From Story B, though, our smart, curious audience would learn something deeper and more meaningful about the Czech people, even about their region. I’ll take the latter, any day. That’s the direction in which I guided my Canadian trainee, who produced stellar results.

To unearth all this material, though, we must work hard – intellectually. Asking questions. Many, many of them. Even more, I now realize that all journalistic reportage may be divided into two categories: about situations, or about people. Often, of course, they overlap: about certain people within a certain situation.

Then, just as we explore the Why exactly of any situation, we also want to dig deeper beneath what a person does, what they say, what they believe, what they feel. Instead, probe why exactly they do what they do, why exactly they say what they say, or believe what they believe, or feel what they feel? What makes them “tick” – in their hearts and minds? And why exactly that? What exactly is their inspiration or motivation? Why exactly does that inspire or motivate them? And so on.

Such interviews, unsurprisingly, can run long. They require patience, on both sides. Yet the subject typically tolerates it. Why? Because they’re flattered that somebody actually cares enough to ask these questions. Your curiosity spurs the caring.

Even better, this curiosity, patience and thirst to understand why exactly results in clearer, more compelling story-telling. As you draw out of your sources the facts, details, history, anecdotes, and, crucially, the quotes – real people, speaking in their “real” voice, expressing their thoughts, feelings, emotions, opinions, analysis – all this enables you to connect the dots, enliven the tale, and bring their story to life.

Frankly, it took me many years to realize the need to hoist my standards: before I enter any room, or begin any interview, I won’t leave until I understand why exactly.

This is the curiosity I cannot teach. It can be faked, to some degree. Say, if an editor assigns you a topic that doesn’t quite excite, or perhaps even bores you. At that moment, you can at least be professional enough to fake curiosity to achieve the necessary depth and seriousness. Yet that’s also a recipe for an unhappy work-life. In short, though, I can’t scream at a charge of mine until I’m blue in the face, or my jugular vein bulges, Be more curious!

I just had one European participant, a nice, intelligent guy, who’d told me he was drawn to Czech jazz. Perhaps he’d write about it. I proceeded to explain that he could explore how jazz has evolved during the transition from Communist dictatorship to capitalist democracy – and why exactly it’s evolved that way. Moreover, he could “humanize” this story, by contrasting the experience of one jazz musician from the older generation, versus one from the younger generation – how their experiences compared, why exactly that way, etc.

During this mentoring, I noticed this guy’s rather blank expression. When I finished, he calmly explained, “I’m not that curious about Czech jazz.” Well, then. As the saying goes: You can lead a horse to water, but can’t make him drink. Journalism, it seems, is not for everyone.

Even then, though, I was curious to ask him: Why exactly aren’t you curious? …

Empathy

Empathy, as in: strive to imagine yourself in someone else’s shoes.

I’m far from being either an angry, far-right Hungarian in the country’s depressed northeast, or a jobless Hungarian Roma living in that same town – as a despised member of the marginalized “Gypsy” minority. Yet I can imagine myself in both of their shoes, as I did three years ago. To view things from their perspective, as if I’d grown up in their circumstances, stomached the financial hardships of the post-Communist transition, to grasp why they may now fear and loathe each other.

Likewise, I’m not a woman. Especially not an African woman. Yet I can still muster the empathy, as I did in June, to enter a black township in South Africa, twenty years after Apartheid, to explore why a black woman who as a child lived in fear of white farmers who hurled insults and stones, expresses satisfaction today. Though she’s unemployed, with five children to feed, I can ask and appreciate why it now matters more to her that at least whites on the street treat her with respect and civility.

Like curiosity, empathy is there, or it isn’t. It may be buried deep, then later bloom or be refined. Yet I know it’s become essential to my journalism, as I imagine myself as them, and how I’d react to this situation or that. It’s also one of my most effective method for deriving questions – and leads me to deeper, more meaningful quotes.

For example, when I was in Bulgaria a few years back, to chronicle the exasperation of anti-corruption efforts in the European Union’s most corrupt country, I imagined how frustrated I would be if I were them. Then I asked my interviewees: “Are you frustrated?” Or, more provocatively, “How frustrating it is for you?”

Not that I put words into their mouths. Instead, I give sources the opportunity to either agree or disagree. Yes, I’m frustrated. Why? Because… Or, they refute: No, I’m not frustrated, because… Either way, I aim to draw a human reaction out of them, to capture their thoughts, feelings, emotions, opinions, analysis, etc.

Beyond that, this degree of empathy is also essential for international reporting. For any smart, curious audience already predisposed to caring about the world around them – and the people who dwell in its far-flung corners – how else can we build a bridge, to connect those folks over there, with this audience over here?

I believe it can only be done by illuminating our shared humanity and universal values. If I don’t empathize with my subject and humanize their reaction to circumstances, how can I convince – still subtly, dispassionately – my audience to care about them? Or at least, offer a compelling reason to read my story to the end?

No teaching experience underscored this need for empathy than last fall, during my fourth stint at Hong Kong Baptist University. The vast majority of my students are Chinese from the intensively mono-ethnic mainland. Arriving in culturally diverse Hong Kong is quite a shock to their system. To amplify their discomfort, I assign them to produce a short profile of any minority, immigrant or refugee. They’re forbidden from interviewing another Chinese – from even from speaking Chinese.

I steer some students toward lower-hanging fruit, like the ubiquitous Filipina and Indonesian housekeepers. Almost all of them have left behind families, including children, to work for Chinese families – in other words, raising someone else’s child.

My students, initially, tend to focus on the barest facts: the kind of work they do, how long they’ve done it, what they like or dislike about Hong Kong, etc. Again, the What of their situation. If they dare ask “why” – as in, “Why’d you come here?” – the response may be “Because I needed a decent job.” Or, “I needed to make money.”

Yet that doesn’t explain why exactly they needed a decent job, or to make money. Once you delve deeper into their circumstances, the sadness emerges. I’m not a Filpina, but can strive to imagine a mother who has left behind three children – and the misery of visiting them just once every year or two, for only one or two weeks.

Again, I can’t howl at my charges, “Be more empathetic!” If it doesn’t emerge, I’m now convinced it’ll limit the depth to which you and your story will plumb. Which means the audience will care less, if at all. They’ll quit reading, and move on. If you lack an empathy for others, well, this brand of journalism may not be for you.

Life Experience

At age 22, I broke in as rookie reporter in the high desert of Southern California, covering local politics for a small daily newspaper, the now-defunct Hemet News, in the working-class, retiree oasis of the San Jacinto Valley. The local “Good Ol’ Boy” network had its finger in the till of most money-making operations around town.

These fellows were shrewd and knew how to cover their tracks – especially from a greenhorn like me. Over and over again, they threw me off the scent, manipulating me. After all, I was still a kid – and they were in their 40s, 50, 60s. Esteemed elders.

While licking my wounds one day, the local gadfly who regularly fed me tips tried to cheer me up. “Michael, you can’t get five years of experience in one year. In one year, you get one year of experience.” With more years clocked, I would’ve been savvier? Sounded obvious then, but this wisdom has reassured me over the years, helping to keep things in perspective. It’s also advice I impart to the student-journalists or trainees who express impatience to become a better reporter or writer today.

Life experience brings more than the self-confidence to spar with slippery sources. It also matters in the world of foreign reporting. War, political crisis, natural disasters – those grab the headlines. Yet two decades of life in the field has enabled me to spot the millions and millions of tragedies all around us, each day, often invisible to the naked eye. One may suffer personal trauma. Or economic hardship. Or persecution due to race, religion, politics, ethnicity, gender. Perhaps its baggage of the past, circumstance, environment. Or simply a daily struggle to survive.

It’s one thing to ask plenty of empathy-driven questions. It’s another to connect the dots through history, or across the globe today. To meet someone in a certain predicament, then step back and recognize what their one story illuminates, what the plight of this one individual symbolizes – and tells us about mankind today.

With no exaggeration, I say it took me years reporting, thousands of interviews, hundreds of articles, from two dozen countries, for this worldview to crystalize. Also, to appreciate the relative security and luxury in which I grew up, in the U.S. Then, to better appreciate my own family’s tale of flight, as refugeehood enveloped both sides in 1956 – my father from Hungary, my mother from Egypt.

Most enlightening was for me myself to become a father, three times over. Once the kids’ welfare becomes top priority, and you mull how you’d react to this dilemma or that, you shudder at the magnitude of decisions that so many are forced to make. For example, economic migrants. When I was a young correspondent in mid-1990s Budapest, and learned of the westward flow of post-Communist, newly mobile East Europeans, I regurgitated a facile narrative: Too few jobs, too few opportunities, so they gotta go where the work is.

I didn’t consider how unnatural it really was. Torn from your motherland, hometown, parents, friends, siblings, spouse … even your children! Your mother-tongue, too. Perhaps ancestral graves, as well. All things being equal, why would anyone freely choose to leave home, except for adventure?

Back to that earlier example: the millions of Filipino housekeepers, babysitters, tutors and others who are one of their country’s leading exports. Some I’ve met in Hong Kong are confronted by a Faustian bargain: stay at home with your children, yet know their futures will be mired in the cycle of poverty; or, toil for years in a foreign land, as a modern-day indentured servant, for five to 10 times as much wages – most of it sent back to the kids for their food, clothes, school-books, etc.

However, then be tormented every single day by not only how desperately you miss your kids, but by the anguish that you’ve left it to someone else to raise them. When I was a younger reporter, a young person, I didn’t see the tragedy. I do know.

Similarly, one of my Chinese students produced a short profile on an Indian worker in Hong Kong who loads boxes all day. The student focused dryly on how many boxes per day, filled with this or that, coming from where, going to somewhere, and so on. Toward the end of the piece, a few lines on how he misses his parents and siblings, video-Skyping them every week. “But they’re proud of me,” he said.

Hey, it’s a usable profile on “An Ordinary Foreign Worker in Hong Kong.” Whether anyone would read it, that’s another question. I myself, as a cub reporter, would’ve been blind to the human drama at play. Today, I see the layers. I’ve not been to India, yet I imagine a large rural family in dire straits, as the eldest son – on his own volition, or pressured by his parents – steps forward: I’ll venture far to help us. No wonder they’re proud of him.

Now seasoned in journalism and in life, I now see why that pride – and how it helps him endure the homesickness – is a story worth telling.

Young reporters, take heart. You can’t gain such perspective in one year. In one year, you accrue one year of experience. In five years, you gain five. Ultimately, my two decades off the beaten path have done more than turn me prematurely grey – it’s made me a better journalist. And, like curiosity and empathy, no journalism guru could’ve taught me that.

Keys to a Successful Interview

So, that essay lays the foundation. Next, let move on to how to prepare for, then conduct, an actual interview. There are sizable differences between interviewing someone who already knows of us – with our credibility and seriousness established – versus approaching a total stranger. Whether it’s speaking with passers-by on the street, or pre-arranging an interview with a subject in-person or online.

The latter can be much more challenging, because nowadays we all have a reflexive (and understandable) distrust and suspicion of strangers who approach us, whether face-to-face, via email, or through social-media: Is this person trying to harm me? Should I trust them? Why? (Regarding how exactly to conduct such interviews, see the section below: Pounding the Pavement.) The reality is, plenty of dark forces are trying to harm us. So we, and anyone we approach, should be on-guard.

The two-pronged challenge is: How to lower this wall of suspicion? And how to build a bridge of trust? I’ve identified eight tips, which I’ve shared with my trainees and student-journalists, which should enable us to lower the wall, build the bride – and facilitate a more relaxed and candid interview:

1) Establish our credibility. To lower suspicion and build trust, when we first approach a person by email, phone or text, we should establish our credentials and professional affiliations. Or, if we meet them in person for the first time, we should be ready to persuasively “pitch” our credibility, on the spot. Ideally, though, we first approach via email – to have enough space to clearly explain who we are, what we’re doing, why we want to interview them, etc. (More below in my Interview-Request Template.)

2) Do our homework. Our advance preparation, pre-interview, is the mark of professionalism. It conveys our respect for the person we interview – and for the process itself. After all, this is serious business, exploring someone’s deep thoughts and feelings. We should learn at least something about who they are, what they do, what their organization does, etc., to subtly communicate we’ve done our homework. Otherwise, we look clueless, amateurish, even disrespectful. (See Chapter Fifteen for more.)

3) Dress appropriately. I don’t mean a mandatory jacket-and-tie, dress, or anything too formal. But as I tell student-journalists, if we’re young, we don’t have to look young! Meaning, no sweatpants, t-shirts, flip-flops, etc. Imagine if we were in their shoes, and saw us: Why should they take us seriously?

4) It’s all in the eyes. We generally trust our own instincts, especially when meeting a stranger for the first time. We quickly judge words, deeds, even their aura. Simpatico or not? Frequently, another deciding factor is that we look directly into their eyes: How sincere are they? Do I trust them? Imagine a subject, doing the same to us. Even if we pre-arrange an interview, they’ll peer into our eyes, to assess our sincerity: Are we bored or uninterested? Are we only here because our boss assigned us this task? If we’re any of these things, watch how our subject will detach – and try to leave us as soon as possible.

Or are we genuine – and genuinely curious – about exploring what this person thinks, feels, and so on? Watch how attuned subjects are to this – and how much they read into our eyes. Just as we read into theirs. If we’re sincerely, genuinely curious about them, the eyes will reveal it. And that, in turn, will encourage subjects to open up. Typically, because they’ll feel flattered by our sincere interest. (More on this unusual form of “flattery” farther below, where I explain the “dirty little secret” of interviewing.)

5) Be ourselves. It’s OK to be nervous when we meet this person. (It’s even OK to sweat!) Especially when we’re relatively new to the field. But to disarm them, here’s a tactic: why not admit we’re nervous? With a line like: Sorry, but I’m a little nervous – and still relatively new to this. If they’re a decent-minded person, and detect that we’re otherwise handling this situation with sincerity and professionalism, they’ll likely forgive this initial anxiety: That’s fine. Go ahead. How can I help you?

6) Don’t blow the “make-or-break” moment. In our first interaction, the subject determines almost immediately if we’re serious or unserious: Are you worth my time, or a waste of time? It sets the tone for the entire interview: if they’ll open up and divulge deeper thoughts and feelings, or clam up, shut down, and scurry away from us as soon as possible. If we fumble this moment, we may not recover. As the saying goes: You never get a second chance to make a first impression. Speaking of which:

7) Our first question is key. Whether we’re nervous and sweaty, or cool as a cucumber, the true test comes now. Our first query is also a make-or-break moment, which may open the door to deep, meaningful conversation – or spur the subject to cut short our interview prematurely. It’s also a manifestation of our sincere curiosity and advance preparation, if we respectfully did our homework.

For example, opening by asking the head of an organization something like What does your organization do?is a lousy starter, because we could easily have learned this information from their website, as part of our preparatory research. It also does harm, as with this one question, we signal that we haven’t approached this interaction seriously and professionally. Instead, we could show we’ve done our homework, by name-dropping a few things we’ve learned about their organization. Something like:

So, I was reading XXX [fill in] on your website/social-media channels about you/your organization/this situation, the YYY [fill in] challenges you face, and how you’re responding by doing ZZZ [fill in]. I’m really curious to learn more: How did you/your organization/this situation get to this point?

8) Start chronologically. Speaking of which, over the years I’ve pondered the best ways to open an interview – and get us off “on the right foot.” I’ve found it most effective to start “at the beginning.” Depending on the focus on my story, that means asking our subject one of three variations:

*Where/how did your XXX issue or YYY situation begin? (And why did it begin there?)

*How did your organization first get involved with that issue or situation? (And why?)

*How did you first get involved with [or were first affected by] this issue/situation? (And why?)

This approach works well for three reasons:

*First, it’s logical: The best way to fully comprehend any story/issue/situation is to start at the beginning. As I’ve explained before, historical context matters.

*Second, it sends a positive message to the heart and mind of the person we’re interviewing: We truly want to comprehend this situation fully, to accurately share it with our audience.

*Third, when we ask someone how they personally became involved, they may find it both disarming and flattering – that we’re so curious to hear their story. This often pushes the right button, as we aim to overcome that fundamental challenge: lower the wall of suspicion, build the bridge of trust.

For example, I recently approached a stranger in the streets of New York, in search of immigrants to interview about their experiences when seeking healthcare for themselves and their family. This woman was Black, and she pushed a stroller with a white baby. It would be totally understandable if she were suspicious of me – and what I wanted from her.

After introducing myself, for whom I was working, and why I was curious to hear her story, she was surely reading into my eyes. Plus, I smiled. Then, I asked questions that respectfully began at the beginning: Where are you from? When did you come to America? Why did you leave your homeland?

Rachel from Guyana soon realized: This guy really wants to understand me. I was with a photographer, too. Step by step, we could see Rachel’s suspicion dissipate – and the trust grow.

Again, I’ll soon explain why questions about someone’s personal past, their life experiences, their thoughts and feelings, etc., are a subtle form of flattery. Then in Chapter Fifteen, I present many of the questions we should ask our interviewee about their backstory; how to guide them through that process; and even my own technique to extract what I call the Darwinian Origins & Evolution of any story. But first, let’s explore more about our subject’s psyche – and how they might react to us.

Being “Nice” Helps

When approaching a subject, beyond our level of preparation, and what they’ll see in our eyes, the fate of an interview may hinge on something much more fundamental: Are we nice?

What I mean by this is, are we open to meeting this person, with open heart and open mind? Beyond our kindly eyes or genuine curiosity, are we the kind of person who projects empathy for their perspective, or even compassion for their plight? Are we, as the Europeans say, simpatico? Plainly put, are we warm, friendly, affable, charming? Simply likable?

This certainly helps the process, as decent human-to-human connection generally leads to better inter-personal communications. Imagine the opposite: We’re approached by an interviewer (whether foreign or domestic) who immediately strikes us as cold, unkind, unfriendly, close-minded, etc. How willingly would we open up to share with this person our deep, meaningful thoughts and feelings?

Unfortunately, these qualities can’t be taught. Be nicer! Be warmer! How fake would that appear? Our subject might sense it, too? With such personality traits, in general, we either are or aren’t. Consider this as “food for thought” for our interviewing, because it’s often a factor beyond our control.

In my experience, it’s also undeniable that some male subjects may be more open to answering the questions of an attractive female interviewer – for some obvious reasons.

I’d never advocate for sexualized flirting, to achieve our agenda. Nor for anything beyond that, like how the real-life reporter was portrayed in the American film, Richard Jewell. Searching for a scoop, she slept with her source. She got the front-page story, but via a gross breach of journalistic ethics.

That said, being likable and charming can surely benefit us. As a male interviewer, I can tell you I’m quick to smile – and enjoy making foreigners smile. I think I also project a sincere, non-threatening aura. Not surprisingly, I believe this helps with work: if I’m asking for favors; negotiating for what I need; or politely, persistently but respectfully exploring what’s on someone’s mind, or in their heart.

Speaking of likability, I’ve never been a heavy drinker. But when welcomed into someone’s home or community, if offered a drink of some home-brewed moonshine, I’d never turn that down. In the Balkans, if offered a shot of slivovica(plum brandy) – or in Hungary, if offered pálinka (a brandy of whatever fruit falls from a tree, like cherry, pear or plum) – I’ll drink it to show I’m open, culturally respectful and culinarily curious. Even adventurous with what I’m willing to put into my mouth.

I also appreciate hospitality: If invited into a subject’s home, I might bring a modest box of chocolates, as a gesture of gratitude. (I do the same during my off-duty, non-reporting life, bringing a bottle of wine or flowers to the host.) To me, however, this is far from proffering a lavish gift or cash, to buy favors. Some US media also have explicit rules about their journalists receiving gifts: a cup of coffee or press-conference luncheon is one thing; but nothing over $10 or $20 value.

That said, I recognize the Cross-Cultural Communications at play, too: In a foreign culture, we convey a meaningful message if we show a willingness, even enthusiasm, to “break bread” with our host. Between strangers, it helps to bring down the wall of suspicion, and build the bridge of trust.

Likewise, I’ve never been a cigarette smoker. But I recall several reporting trips to Albania, for example, when a humble Albanian I’d interview would place a hand on their heart – and offer me one of their cigarettes – as if communicating, “We may not have much, but what we have, we’re willing to share.” I instinctively knew to never turn down such a (literally) heartfelt gesture.

On the flip-side, if I were to ever turn down a shot of Balkan booze, I can only imagine how my subject might feel personally snubbed, perhaps even culturally disrespected. Whatever the reaction, it might inject into our interaction an avoidable bit of negativity, which might cloud the entire interview.

That said, I remember one young Saudi journalist I trained in Prague. He was a smart, friendly fellow, genuinely committed to learning and improving. As I explained what it was like in the field, in foreign cultures, and what I did to lower the walls of suspicion, something through food, drink, even smoke, he explained his dilemma – as an observant Muslim, with dietary and religious restrictions.

I fully understood, of course. And expressed respect for his commitment to principles. But I also explained how it’s possible that out in the field, in alien lands, when interviewing non-Muslims who generously offer some hospitality of food and drink, they might not understand why he was politely refusing. Even if he were to explain why. Of course, he shouldn’t compromise his beliefs. I just wanted to make him aware of the reality. And that he’d overcome it with his smile, sincerity and professionalism.

The broader lesson here: It helps to be nice, friendly and possessing some magnetic charm.

The Psychology of Sources

I was once a young journalist, too. Anxious, insecure, naïve – all perfectly normal, at that age. As a rookie reporter in Southern California (described in Chapter Two: A Journalistic Journey Begins), I was a 22-year-old who sometimes felt sheepish about requesting interviews and asking (mostly older) people questions, as if I were inconveniencing them. I’d marvel when a local bigwig agreed to answer. Whether it was the small-town mayor, local police chief, hospital director, school-board president, major business-owner, etc.

At the end of interviews, I was effusive: Thank you so much for your time! I’m grateful! I even recall feeling guilty at times, because the process seemed so manipulative and self-absorbed: I continually asked others for “help with my story” – yet seemed to give nothing in return. It was all about me, me, me. Take, take, take. Right?

Wrong. It was only after I’d been doing it for a while that I realized: They’re not talking to me because I’m so nice, friendly or respectful. Or because they’re so kind, considerate or helpful. Nor are they “generously and selflessly” taking time out of their busy schedule to do me this “favor.”

Sure, they may be kind, considerate and helpful people, in real life. But that wasn’t enough to explain why they’d answer my questions. Instead, in almost every circumstance, they’d made a calculation, whether consciously or subconsciously: Why’s it in my self-interest to answer his questions?

In short, they’d answer: Because it benefits me to do so. For some reason.

Yet what’s the reason? That’s another question, which I’ll soon answer. But the first revelation was that it’s not just me with the self-interest to interview them, but actually both sides of the interviewer-interviewee relationship with a strong self-interest. Psychologically and strategically, it’s important for us to recognize that reality, if we hope to fully achieve our objective.

First, we already know our self-interest: What exactly we seek from them – and why exactly we need it. Maybe it’s facts, or a strong quote, or a good story, or the inside scoop. Something. Maybe it’s to satisfy our editor, our producer, our audience, or to climb the career ladder. Stuff like that.

I was still a few years away from developing my full-fledged theory and Venn diagram of The Intersection of Self-Interests, which I presented in Chapter Four: What Editors Want. But this early epiphany reassured and emboldened me about this business: It’s a two-way street. Give and take. So, take a deep breath and request that interview, or pose those questions, with greater confidence.

Now, what could be our subject’s self-interest? It’s not the money motive, as mainstream American media would never pay for an interview. That’s unethical, as well as antithetical to traditional journalism. The rationale: If you dangle money as enticement, a subject may be overly eager to say what you want to hear, or what they think you want to hear – whether accurate, embellished or fabricated. It’s also unethical to twist their arm, or somehow threaten or coerce them to answer our queries.

So, why exactly might they willingly speak with us? I’ve identified several possible motives:

•       Financial self-interest. Do they have a company or other investment, from which they might benefit or profit financially from speaking with us? As in: Any publicity is good for business.

•       Ideological self-interest. Do they have a reason for why it’s beneficial to inject their political, religious or any other beliefs, opinions, thoughts, feelings or agenda into the public realm?

•       Organizational self-interest. Do they represent an organization (for-profit or not-for-profit) for whom publicity may benefit its reputation? Among investors, donors, partners, media, etc.?

•       Personal self-interest. Do they have an egotistical motive to promote their name? To build their brand, enhance their reputation, or climb a ladder? Do they yearn to “go viral” in cyberspace?

•       Raising awareness. The least self-interested of motivations. But still. Maybe they care so much about an issue (climate change, racism, corruption, etc.), they seize any media opportunity to open eyes or sound an alarm. Especially if we plan to share their views online, with an unlimited Internet audience. Yet even a person driven to raise awareness of a worthy cause may be dually motivated to promote their organization’s work in that field – or their own status in that arena.

As you see, the folks we interview have a wide range of potential reasons, even motives, for why they answer our questions. That’s why it drives me crazy whenever I see a TV host, news anchor or interviewer who’s overly effusive with a politician, government official, businessperson, analyst, activist, organizational leader, etc.: “Thank you SO much for taking the time to come on our show.”

Yes, thank them as a professional courtesy. But don’t mislead your audience into believing that this person did a kind-hearted favor for us, our outlet, our audience. No, this subject made a shrewd calculation for why exactly it was in their interest to appear on, or be interviewed by, our platform. Simply put, everyone’s “busy” nowadays. But they calculated: Why’s this good for me? Because …

The Dirty Little Secret

Beyond all these personal motivations for why professionals potentially answer our questions, what about “ordinary” people? There’s also what I call the “dirty little secret” about interviewing. This theory of mine explains the #1 reason for why – of the thousands of people I’ve approached for an interview over the past 30 years – roughly 97% have agreed to do so.

Believe me, it’s not because I’m so charming or persuasive. (Though, that helps!) Instead, the dirty little secret I discovered long ago that interviewing is actually one of the highest forms of flattery. In this case, I define flattery to mean something more authentic than telling someone in a less-than-sincere way, for example, how smart, talented or beautiful we think they are.

Rather, here’s how it works: Rarely in our everyday lives does someone express sincere interest or genuine curiosity about our thoughts, feelings, opinions, daily activities, life experiences, personal history, and so on. Even those closest to us, like family or friends, may not ask.

Perhaps it’s that they don’t care. Or they’ve heard it all before. Or are too consumed with their own inner-world. Feel free to test my theory: At the end of your work-day or school-day, return home to your family, partner, roommate, whomever. They may ask you, generically: How was your day?

We’re so used to not being asked in a deep, meaningful way, that we may answer in kind, with a generic response: It was great … Fine … OK … So-so.

Most people who ask us will then move on. They may even start talking about themselves – and their day. Few, though, will follow-up on our response: But I really want to know: How WAS your day?

With that in mind, imagine if a journalist were to approach us – asking personal questions. If they can convince us of their sincerity, they begin to earn our trust. We may also feel deeply touched. Subconsciously, even flattered that anyone would care this much. Step by step, we magically open up: You really care to hear my story? You’re really curious to know what’s on my mind – and in my heart?

Yes, we interviewers should be that curious. In fact, let’s reassure them: Not only do we feel their story is important, but valuable enough to share with others. In a story. Imagine how flattered we’d feel! Yet, even this form of flattery – and our little secret – relies on a strain of self-interest: They speak because it makes them feels good that anyone cares enough to ask them … about themselves.

Pushing the Right Button

That said, I wouldn’t want to turn you too cynical about the interviewing process. Certainly, there are plenty of decent-minded subjects who won’t be driven purely by their craven self-interest.

However, none of the motives above is driven by altruism – that they speak with us for a high-minded “greater good.” Or to help us. Or do us a favor. Mind you, there’s nothing so terrible about that. They benefit, just as we benefit. A win-win! Again, I refer to this as The Intersection of Self-Interests.

When I initially realized this mutually-beneficial transaction, it put my mind at ease: It’s not just me who’s “using” them. They’re using me, too!

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had it practically backward. We’re actually offering them an opportunity. Most of the time, it’s us doing them a “favor” – by providing this unique opportunity. By appearing on our platform, we enable them to be seen and heard. We’re offering a virtual megaphone, to broadcast their thoughts, feelings, opinions, analysis, agenda, etc.

After all, we could find other voices to include in our story. Rarely is it the case that, say, this one expert, activist, specialist or official we approach is truly the only person who can speak on this subject. We could turn elsewhere, to give someone else a chance – which they might jump at. Yet we now offer this person that opportunity. We should appreciate this reality, psychologically and strategically, for how it strengthens our leverage. Let’s no longer be shy about approaching subjects, but confident.

That said, not everyone we come across is so media-savvy, or immediately aware of their self-interest to speak with us. So, we may still have to make a persuasive argument, to get them on-board. Which means, we should once again deploy Strategic Communications – with advance strategizing.

This is our challenge. If we can pinpoint beforehand what a subject’s potential self-interest might be, we’re more likely to push the right button, early on. Likewise, if we know the topic is sensitive, or that the person we want to interview is very busy, let’s speculate on the potential wall of resistance. Then, strategize how to lower the wall, even how to overcome it – and persuade them to talk. To visualize this challenge, I applied and modified my Intersection of Self-Interests diagram:

That’s why my approach to sources – via email, telephone or in person – is packed with strategic communications. I’ll show you a sample of that, farther down, with my template of an interview-request. In such approaches, you’ll notice that I sprinkle in plenty of Please and Thank you, and still present it as if I’m asking them for a favor – in this case, for a slice of their precious time.

Rather than be arrogant about the leverage we hold, I don’t mind kissing up a little … to sweeten their disposition and lubricate the process. However, more important is that I strategically word my request in a way that the recipient should recognize their self-interest. Specifically, that what’s offered is a golden “opportunity” to have their voice heard: to publicize their issue, to spotlight their organization’s name (with a hyperlink to their site), even to enhance their own reputation.

For example: I’m writing an article that will raise awareness, online, about the issue of XXX …

Or: I’m producing a story that will better inform international readers about the YYY situation …

If the subject is sharp, their eyes will light up: they’ll spot this chance, then calculate its benefits.

Exercise: For the content you’d like to produce, who would you want to interview? What might be their self-interest, to potentially agree to be interviewed by you? Why that self-interest? How might you persuade them to agree? Pushing which button? Presenting them an opportunity to do what? Why?

Overcoming Reluctance

Whereas some subjects may “surprise” us with how enthusiastic they are to answer our questions, now we know better than to be too surprised, given their myriad potential self-interests. Still, we should realize that other subjects may be considerably less enthusiastic. Or even resistant.

Yet, this offer-an-opportunity approach can even work with subjects whom we suspect may want to avoid us. One example I give is of a government official who’s publicly accused of corruption.

Our editor exhorts us: Make him speak to you! Get me a quote!

Perhaps we blanch, considering this an impossible task. After all, the official’s already being skewered in the media, by accusers, critics, watchdogs and others. Why would they answer another pesky journalist’s questions – if they fear it’ll only pour more fuel onto the fire? Better to keep quiet!

Here’s how a less-savvy reporter might handle the phone-call to this official:

Dear [official accused of corruption], I’d like to ask you about the accusations against you …

Next thing we hear is the official slamming down the phone. (Or the line going dead.)

Here’s how I’d initiate that phone-call:

Dear [official accused of corruption], I’d like to give you an opportunity to respond to the accusations against you. Would you like to answer a few questions?

Their light-bulb may flicker on: A chance to defend myself! To have my say! To clear my name!

Though we’re giving them this platform, that doesn’t mean we’re also doing their PR or propaganda. In the piece we produce, we’d still make clear to the audience all the accusations of corruption levied against this official – and what others are saying about it. So, our approach is actually in the interest of fairness. Give them a chance to defend themselves. We’re not the judge or jury.

Even better, our editor is now happy with us: You got them to talk!

That said, a subject may be reluctant to talk for other reasons: Not because of any misdeed, but because the topic is so sensitive. For this, I use another technique: Arguing for the greater good.

This is particularly effective when raising awareness of people who are somehow “suffering in silence.” Such as a victim of domestic or sexual violence; a gay or lesbian member of a conservative community; someone suffering a mental-health crisis but doesn’t want others to know; and so on.

I recall one reporting trip I took to Kosovo in 2009, ten years after NATO forces had liberated the ethnic-Albanians from their Serb overlords. Among the stories I produced was about the minorities forced to flee the former Yugoslav province. Including, many of the local Roma (ie. “Gypsy”) community.

Through an NGO, I was connected with two Kosovo Romani women, who fled as refugees into neighboring Macedonia. They were sisters-in-law who’d suffered greatly: they’d been raped in front of their husbands (who were brothers) and all their children. I couldn’t imagine the trauma inflicted upon the entire family. Yet now I had a chance to interview the women themselves – and their husbands.

I negotiated with the protective NGO worker who was providing them psycho-social services, pointing out to her: Few people in the outside world have even heard about this injustice. If these women share their story with me, it may help raise awareness – and encourage more victims to step forward.

This isn’t lying, nor exaggerating. Rather, I aimed to show my source where her self-interest may lie – which I imagined would be to raise awareness about an issue that impassions her.

Meanwhile, please note: I’d never promise an interviewee that my story will achieve XXX or YYY, because I can’t guarantee results like that. Nor should we. Ever. The best we can do is state that we and our story aim to better inform, raise awareness, sound an alarm, etc. – and might trigger a response.

That’s why this approach is tricky. While we achieve one major goal of journalism – give voice to the voiceless, empower the powerless, comfort the afflicted, afflict the comfortable, etc. – we must be careful not to cross a line with subjects: We’re not on “their side.” Even if we feel deep compassion for them, or their organization advocates an issue we care about or believe in. (As I explained in Chapter Three: My Big Break, who wouldn’t want to see justice delivered to victims of wartime perpetrators?)

Indeed, we should never act, speak or even hint as if we’re supporters of their cause – suggesting that we’re somehow helping or assisting with the meaningful work they do. Even if we kinda-sorta are. Indirectly, though. Instead, we stick to our primary role: as journalists and chroniclers, not activists or advocates. We have a noble job to do, as well: to better inform and educate the audience.

But if you truly feel so impassioned about them and/or their work, their cause, and so on, there’s nothing wrong with joining them. Switch careers. They need excellent communicators, of course. I myself am today working on behalf of a number of not-for-profit organizations. But in the scenario I’ve described above, we stick to the job we’re doing – and the hat we’re wearing. Don’t cross that line.

Back to the two rape-victims I interviewed: I folded their stories into a broader piece on Roma refugees from Kosovo, living in limbo in neighboring Macedonia. Here’s the article, which I co-produced with a Macedonian Roma journalist, as part of a shoulder-to-shoulder, training-reporting project for Transitions in Prague. (For more about that project, see Chapter Twenty-Five: Minorities & Me.)

Here’s one key passage, which I extracted by appealing to both the women and the social-worker protecting them: sharing their story might achieve a greater good – of raising awareness.

With our subjects, then, make clear why we think this topic is meaningful, important, or at least interesting to our audience. Emphasize why their participation would add so much value to what we aim to achieve. If our self-interests overlap, or just appear aligned, then that’s a happy coincidence.

Granting Anonymity

On the other hand, some subjects may be inclined to speak with us and answer our questions, but they’re legitimately concerned about potential repercussions if their names are publicized.

For example, an employee may be willing to “blow the whistle” on what’s happening in their organization, but they’re understandably worried that the boss fires them for blabbing to the media.

Or, they might be an abused wife who’s found refuge in a shelter – and is willing to share her ordeal, to raise awareness of domestic violence – but fears that her husband may come looking for her.

Or, they may suffer depression or another affliction – and are willing to explain their plight, to raise awareness of mental-health issues – but they’re afraid of being publicly stigmatized or ridiculed.

Or, they might be gay in a very conservative society – and willing to describe what it’s like to live “in the closet” – but worry about the discrimination they may face later, especially from their employer.

And so on. As you see, there are many potential scenarios to legitimately explain why someone would be reluctant to put their name out there – let alone to have their face filmed or photographed.

However, rather than thanking them for their time, then allowing them to walk away, we can offer them a rare option: Anonymity. Simply put, we capture their words, while concealing their identity. In theory, that should enable this person to speak freely, while avoiding any related risks. Once we promise to protect someone’s identity, we must do everything we can to never divulge it. (If law-enforcement ever tries to pressure you to reveal that, go find a lawyer specializing in media-rights.)

That said, we shouldn’t throw around our anonymity offer too willy-nilly; granting it can carry a certain price. For example, smart-but-skeptical media consumers like us are aware of some rare but high-profile cases in which journalists fabricated sources – though they claimed to have protected them by anonymity. Perhaps it’s to suit their own agenda or storyline. On the flipside, granting anonymity may bestow freedom unto an unreliable, less-scrupulous source to exaggerate, embellish, even lie to us.

In short, just as anonymity may harm our credibility, citing someone’s real name enhances our content’s credibility. It’s a form of accountability that builds audience trust – because If someone lies publicly, it’s their name and reputation at stake. As long as we maintain a healthy dose of skepticism and make clear to our audience that these are their words, not ours: Johnson said XXX … Smith said YYY …

However, if we allow an anonymous source to exploit our platform to disseminate an untruth, it tarnishes ourreputation. Since credibility is fundamental to our work, obtaining their name is a basic need. Be prepared to make that case: May I ask your name, please? It boosts the credibility of your story.

We can make a similar argument to persuade a reticent subject why they should allow us to take their photo – explaining how including both their name and photo will enhance our story’s credibility.

Meanwhile, following multiple scandals of exploited anonymity, some media outlets can be extreme – and never allow for any form of anonymity, regardless of the circumstances or justification.

I recall freelancing stories for USA Today, back in 1997, when the newspaper boasted the largest circulation in America. One piece I pitched was about the revival of a centuries-old tradition of “blood feuds” in Albania: If you kill someone, then the grieving family is entitled to kill someone in your family.

Through networking, I was fortunate to find a young Albanian man in hiding, because his brother had accidentally killed someone from another family, during a fight – and he was now targeted for death. An eye for an eye. This man was willing to speak with me; though, unsurprisingly, didn’t want to give his name – because he feared that the aggrieved family might figure out the location of his hideout. That struck me as absolutely reasonable, so I offered anonymity and interviewed him.

That wasn’t good enough for USA Today. My editor there wanted a name. I explained why the source wanted anonymity – and was justified to receive it. Or I wouldn’t have secured the interview. Yet the policy is the policy, said the editor. I found it absurd, so gave up on USA Today and instead pitched it to the CSMonitor. Needless to say, they appreciated the need for anonymity. Here’s that piece:

 Here’s how I handle such scenarios. If I come across someone willing to talk, but without using their name, I’ll ask the same question as if someone were unwilling to talk, for any other reason:

That’s OK not to give your name/That’s OK if you don’t want to talk … but may I ask why not?

Again, we aim to identify The Wall of Resistance, then react quickly to overcome it – if possible. In this case, I’m listening for their reason. If it sounds legitimate to me, I may offer this possibility:

Would you be willing to share your story with me, but anonymously? More important than using your name is for my audience to hear your words – and to learn about your experience.

Depending on their circumstance, I’d reassure them: I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you.

If they trust me and/or trust my publication, they’ll agree with that. Similarly, if the audience trusts me and/or trust my publication, they’ll tend to believe that I’ve anonymously quoted a real person – who did indeed have justifiable reasons to protect their true identity.

That said, even if we grant anonymity, we should still identify this person as much as we can, without fully identifying them. Let’s negotiate with our subject, up to the fine line where it may be too revealing. For starters, their gender – if a man, woman or anything else relevant.

Next, depending on the story, we could identify other key details: which country, or which part of the country, they’re from; their age range (a Western man in his twenties, an American woman in her fifties, etc.); their line of work; the number of years they’ve done XXX or YYY activity. In short, any kind of relevant details that not only enable the audience to somehow visualize this person, but also build confidence that we actually interviewed a real person, who’s also relevant to this story.

We may even ask for their first name, if it’s not too revealing of who exactly that person is. Or, ask them for an alias, which at least humanizes them a bit more than no name at all. Still, let’s clarify in our story this isn’t their real name. Similarly, we should clarify to our audience why exactly we granted this person anonymity. The interviewee may wonder why we want to do that. To which I gently explain:

You certainly have the freedom to speak with me anonymously. My audience, though, is not only smart and curious, but skeptical. My duty to them is to explain why I’m granting someone anonymity.

Moreover, this explanation may even inject more drama into the story, perhaps even deepen it. Meaning, if we assert this situation we describie is serious, nothing shows that more effectively than if the credible source we interview is so concerned, they’re unwilling to attach their name to their words.

Here are some examples of how we could write this, within plausible scenarios:

*Abdul, a gay, Middle Eastern man in his thirties, didn’t want to give his real name out of concern for how his family, friends and employer would react to the revelation about his sexuality …

*Sandra, a South African woman in her forties, didn’t want to reveal her full name or her whereabouts, for fear that her abusive husband might try to track her down …

*One former Trump Administration official says they were puzzled by Trump’s unwillingness to criticize Russia’s Vladimir Putin, but feared his wrath if they’d spoken up inside the White House …

*One disgruntled former financial officer says she witnessed corruption in the company, but agreed to speak on condition of anonymity to not breach the non-disclosure agreement she’d signed …

*According to one recovering addict, who didn’t want his employer to learn of his struggles …

For more on all this, check out the Society for Professional Journalists’ guidelines for anonymity:

On Background, Off-the-Record

The term anonymity is sometimes confused with, or used interchangeably with, concepts like “on background” or “off-the-record.” These phrases typically mean that someone is willing to speak with us, but without their name cited – even without their words quoted. For whatever reason, they’re willing to clue us into what’s really going on behind the scenes. Or to share their own insights. Or perhaps they hope to influence the way we, the journalist, view a situation and describe it in our story.

Sometimes, it’s a hybrid: A source willingly tells us some information with their name attached, for publication; but with more sensitive material, they’ll tell us on background or off-the-record. Without their name, but with their words quoted directly. Or maybe not. Needless to say, we and they should be perfectly clear about which is which, since we’d want to avoid damaging this relationship.

You may wonder: What’s the difference between on background and off-the-record? Great question! It almost doesn’t matter. The distinction confuses so many people – both journalists and sources – that to avoid confusion, we should never assume our source or subject knows the difference. Nor should we assume that we’re completely on the same page.

Instead, since our reputation and theirs are both at stake – and sometimes, even more than that is imperiled – I recommend that we always clarify with that person what exactly their conditions are for speaking with us. We then determine if that’s a reasonable request. Likewise, we might negotiate those options; again, to persuade someone to speak with us. Again, in pursuit of credible content.

Lastly, there’s the occasional scenario where we must get a quote from, say, an official from an organization – and that person is willing to speak with us, but only off-the-record. We might have to push them, insisting that we must also have a comment on-the-record, in response to some pressing issue. If they resist, we might gently have to warn them:

You have a right not to comment. But I also have an obligation to show my audience that I made the effort to contact you, in search of a quote. In that case, I may note that you “Declined to comment.” Or, if they’re aggressively resisting us, there’s also this possibility: So-and-so refused to comment.

No subject wants their name attached to that, because a smart-but-skeptical audience will reasonably wonder, with some suspicion: Why’s this official refusing to comment? What’re they hiding?

However, warning them of this is tantamount to a veiled threat, as we’re implicitly threatening to potentially damage their reputation: Talk to me, or I’ll make it look like you’re dodging me. So, broach this option verydiplomatically … and only wield this weapon when they’re obviously dodging. If it’s not obvious enough, bounce the scenario off of a trusted colleague. See if they agree with what you sense.

Convincing a Subject to Talk

Lastly, we should recognize that some subjects are simply suspicious of the media’s intentions – or leery of being misquoted. Maybe they’ve never actually interacted with a journalist, but they’ve consumed too much anti-media content – so hate us all. Or, maybe they have interacted with a journalist, but had a negative experience. Or two. Like being misquoted by a careless reporter.

When I face this wall of resistance, one technique I use to persuade them to answer my questions is offering this possibility: Afterward, I’ll email you the exact quotes and facts I plan to use.

However, we should never send the entire story beforehand. The rationale is that any subject who sees the whole piece will naturally be inclined to want to change XXX or YYY – and may pressure us to do so. This would typically be about the sections related to them, but could even be content related to other people we interviewed. We should never tolerate this, as a form of subtle, or overt, censorship.

Instead, what I offer subjects – to email them just their quotes and facts – is one variation of fact-checking. Even our willingness to do this should signal to the subject, and reassure them, that we’re conscientious about accuracy and intend to present their material as accurately as possible.

I first learned this lesson at the University of Missouri, while reporting for the local daily newspaper, The Columbia Missourian. I called a water-district official, who initially resisted answering my questions. I asked why. They replied: “Because a reporter from your paper once misquoted me.”

My answer, on the fly, was to first apologize for that experience. I then tried persuasion: “I’m sorry that happened to you, but I hope you’ll give me a chance to prove myself. If you wish, I could send you, before publication, the quotes I intend to use, for you to check their accuracy.” That reassured him.

By the way, a second lesson learned from that exchange was the need to sometimes emphasize my personal responsibility to the source and to my craft, beyond my publication’s reputation. As many professionals realize: We’re only as good as our reputation. Without our reputation, what are we?

In the years that followed, I developed another technique. During interviews, if a subject uttered a particularly appealing, meaningful or crucial quote, I’d read it back to them in real-time, on the spot. Something like this: To be clear, you just said XXX, YYY and ZZZ. Did I get that right?

This approach served two purposes. First, it ensures that I correctly captured their wording and sentiment. Second, it simultaneously reassures, by subtly communicating the message: I’m conscientious about accuracy. I’ve consistently seen how subjects do feel reassured by this – then open up even more.

These small but significant trust-building techniques are particularly important for journalists with less interviewing experience. Especially, the many Student-Journalists I’ve trained over the years.

Student Versus “Student-Journalist”

This is one of the most important lessons I teach my students, when coaching them to evolve into true Student-Journalists: heading into the streets, to either gather facts or interview real people.

Unlike professionals, students face an additional obstacle. It’s not just that they look young, or are actually young. They may also feel young. So, they must overcome that psychological hurdle when approaching strangers for interviews: Why would they speak with me? I’m just a student!

No, we’re more than that – practically and symbolically.

First, the practical: How do we identify ourselves? We’re not just “students.” Imagine if we approached a professional in their work-place, or a stranger on the street, with burning questions to ask them. Yet, we introduce ourselves as just a “student”; what impression would we give them? The title “student” sounds less serious, as if we’re asking them for a favor – to participate in our class assignment.

Their likely attitude? Sorry, kid, but I don’t have time to help you with your homework.

First of all, is that even accurate? That the reportage we’ll produce from this interview is for our teacher’s eyes, only? That’s not how it is for my courses. I always try to find a way to publish my students’ work, even if that means creating my own Internet platforms for them, to showcase their skills. (More on that in Chapter Twenty-Two: Teaching the Chinese.)

Think empathetically about our audience, in terms of Strategic Communications. What impression would we project if we instead introduce ourselves – whether in-person, by phone, or via email – as a Student-Journalist? The impression given is that we’re writing for a purpose – and for a platform. Perhaps for a student publication, like the school newspaper or campus radio. Or, for a class project, which will then be published. Or, minimally, that we’ll publish it ourselves, on our social media.

Regardless, we have greater ambition and should inform them of our ultimate intent to publish.

The point is, even the loftier title Student-Journalist signals to our subject the potential for a far broader audience for this story, beyond merely our teacher and classmates. When we do that, we instantly enter the realm of their tangible self-interests – as described earlier in this chapter: the likelihood that their name, their words, their story, their issue, their institution’s name, etc., will likely be presented to a far-wider audience. Even if we only publish it on our LinkedIn, Instagram, Facebook, etc.

Ultimately, the title of Student-Journalist is a question of accuracy: not misrepresenting who we are, or what our exact role is. We’re not just students, nor are we full-fledged journalists. Symbolically, even if we’re “only” a Student-Journalist, we still offer our subjects this golden opportunity to be heard.

For a bit more on how to introduce ourselves, and even how students can “Professionalize” themselves, see Chapter Twenty-Eight: Build Your Brand.

Approaching Strangers, Pitching Ourselves

There are basically two kinds of interviews: the spontaneous or the pre-arranged.

The former is what I was taught as either a man-on-the-street interview or vox populi: “voice of the people.” Typically, such “pounding the pavement” means roaming outside, approaching random strangers to ask them for their thoughts, feelings or opinions about Issue XXX or Topic YYY. Or, maybe it’s to ask them to recount specific life experiences that are relevant to whatever theme we’re exploring.

For these interviews, we must quickly pitch ourselves to that stranger, introducing: who we are; for whom we’re working; for what purpose we’re approaching them; what exactly we seek from them; and how exactly we plan to use it. We’ll have to present this as efficiently, effectively and persuasively as possible. All the while, realizing this person is understandably suspicious of us – and our intentions.

Why? Again, empathetically imagine ourselves in their shoes: When a stranger approaches us on the street, aren’t we immediately suspicious of them and their motives? We surely are. And should be!

Of course, it may enhance our credibility if we have a camera-crew beside us, with the name of our reputable television channel emblazoned on the camera gear. In that case, we may experience strangers who are downright giddy about the chance to be interviewed: I’m going to be on TV! (Plenty of others will of course be scared off, fearful of such attention or pressure to perform.)

However, my background is as a newspaper and magazine reporter. That means that all I’ve ever been armed with is a pad, a pen, maybe a camera – and my powers of persuasion. Though, I’ve occasionally experienced the excitement that rivals TV exposure: I’m going to be in the newspaper!

But again, there are other factors at play. Why would someone in that situation answer our queries? Primarily, it’s ego or flattery. As in: You want to capture my thoughts, my feelings, my opinions? Even my own family and friends rarely ask to hear those. But I’d be happy to share them with you!

Lowering that wall of suspicion, then building a build of trust – out on the streets, with random strangers – is a skill unto itself. To handle it well requires a modicum of self-confidence, as well as some experience. That said, I’ve also found it more stressful than pre-arranged interviews: How to pick whom to approach? Who looks friendly, approachable, talkative, interesting and … not in a hurry?

Or perhaps we’re looking for someone specifically relevant to our story. We’re profiling now, searching for a certain type. As described above, when I sought “an immigrant in New York,” though the city is an ethnic “melting pot,” with a rainbow of skin-tones, my photo-partner and I felt pressure: we didn’t want to risk offending someone by asking Are you a foreigner? Or, by assuming that about them.

My solution was to, yes, identify who might fall into our category. Then approach them, stating politely, gently and respectfully: We’re telling the stories of immigrants and their experiences with obtaining healthcare. May I ask: Are you yourself an immigrant? Or do you know anyone who is?

That said, despite the potential awkwardness of approaching strangers, we must remain optimistic about our chances. I’ve had colleagues say “You’ll never find someone to talk about XXX.” It’s true that not everyone will agree to speak with us. Nor will everyone be friendly, when denying our request. No one likes rejection. But with “so many fish in the sea,” if someone is truly uninterested in speaking, there’s no need for us to pull teeth, like a dentist. Kindly thank them – and move on.

Out of 10 people we approach, let’s be satisfied if one, two or three of them are willing to engage with us in a deep, meaningful way. As I always say, quality over quantity: Instead of 10 or 20 superficial interviews, with short, shallow responses, I’d prefer higher-quality content drawn from three to five thorough, in-depth interviews. Discuss with your Editor what their preferences are, though.

Needless to say, the latter approach can also be more time-consuming – if each interview lasts 20, 30 minutes or more, rather than 3-5 minutes apiece. But I believe the quality will always shine through, as the subject opens up and shares their insights with deeper, more meaningful quotes.

Again, if we prepare well, pitch ourselves effectively, show sincerity in our eyes, and all the other tips I shared above, even if we take someone by surprise on the streets, most people are receptive to this subtle form of flattery – if they have time to spare.

All that said, most of our interviews will be pre-arranged. For these, I always prefer to send an initial email. In the old days, it might have been enough to simply call a subject, introduce ourselves, then persuade them over the phone. That might still work today, if we’re on deadline, pressed for time. (Again, it’s always worth a shot, because you never know. Optimism. Confidence. Persuasion.)

Still, let me explain why I now always prefer a first step of crafting an email. I’ve grown to appreciate how the issues of trust and credibility are so fundamental to the entire interview process. First: Do they trust me? Do they trust my media organization? How to establish and earn their trust?

More important than being charmingly persuasive is the bottom line: Am I credible? Is my platform credible? To prove credibility, I think the wisest approach is via email, because we can lay out all the evidence of our credentials (who we are, who we represent, etc.) in black-and-white. Through links and hyperlinks, we also create a “paper trail” of accountability: All our relevant information is documented and presented transparently, for their current needs and future reference.

In the Internet age, we can and should provide links to our publication’s website, perhaps to our archive for that publication, but especially to any writings that are relevant to this topic. This proves to the recipient that we’re truly who we say we are – and as serious about this specific topic as we claim to be. In short, we’re not lying or exaggerating, but legitimate and believable.

All of this is particularly necessary when we approach any organization, company, government agency, or any other institution where we may need to be granted permission to speak with someone. Thus, our interview-request may be forwarded to supervisors within the organization, for internal approval. In that case, we wouldn’t want to rely on others, as an intermediary who doesn’t know us personally, to summarize who we are and what our mission is. Let’s do it ourselves, in writing.

I believe so strongly in the need to formally introduce myself, and my mission, via email, that even if I meet someone in person, or over the phone, and we discuss the possibility that I conduct an interview or visit their operation, I’ll say, “Let me email you my request.” Just to get it all in writing. Again, it’s a paper-trail of professionalism, transparency and accountability. Let them forward it around.

Conversely, in the past, I used to first approach people over the phone, requesting an interview. But they’d often want me to put that into email form, anyway. So why not just start with the email request, before we’re asked to? Especially when, as I’ve now explained, it’s in our self-interest to do so.

The Interview-Request Template

Here, then, is my template for interview requests – and I’ll explain each element. However, I added a degree of difficulty to this request: Rather than persuade the recipient of my credibility (with links to my relevant work), this is the template I created in 2019 for my Chinese Student-Journalists in Shanghai and Beijing – enabling them to establish their credibility by piggy-backing onto mine.

•       SUBJECT: Request to Interview You [Clearly and simply summarizes what exactly this email is about/what we want/why they should read]

•       September XX, 2019 [Date]

•       Dear XXX: [Their name(s). Could be two or three people, if we don’t know who exactly to approach. Ideally their title, too. NEVER misspell their name! It makes a terrible first impression: It indicates we’re careless with FACTS – which hints we may be careless with other facts, too.]

•       I kindly request your assistance with an article I’m writing for the XXX … [insert our publication/website/platform name. In this case, it was the Letters From Shanghai Storytelling Project]. [Remember: Hyperlink to this website.][Overall, this line makes clear, from the start, what we want from them, but nicely: “kindly” or “respectfully” request “assistance.” Again, as if we’re asking for a “favor” or help. But not really! We’re just being exceedingly polite, as part of our persuasion-strategy. From there, if we’re writing for a specific media client, state their name – to immediately establish our credibility. Ultimately, sources decide for themselves if it’s worth their time – and in their self-interest – to meet us. Let’s give them a reason to!]

•       I’m XXX [our name], and I’m a Student-Journalist at Shanghai International Studies University [our title], in the Master’s program in Global Journalism and Communication. We’re guided through this project by the American foreign correspondent and Visiting Professor, Michael J. Jordan. [Briefly introduces who we are, what we do. Let them check our website, if they're curious – or suspicious. Likewise, if we’ve journalistically explored a similar topic before, or through another line of work, include that relevant hyperlink, too. Builds credibility! Imagine, we’re also suspicious when we receive emails from strangers. By including these hyperlinks, we build their confidence that we are who we say we are – and have decent intentions.]

•       We’re exploring the issue of XXX [briefly summarize our topic], which would be interesting to our potentially global audience because of how it opens a window onto XXX [what it reveals about China, why that might appeal to foreigners. Enough detail to “hook” them – so they see a) our smart, serious topic; and b) how they/their organization is RELEVANT to our story. But not too much detail to scare them off.]

•       We know that your XXX [Name of their organization: Non-governmental organization? Think-tank? Company? Government agency?] is working intensively on [or “on the frontlines of”?] this issue/field/industry. For example, by doing XXX [What’s their relevance? Drop a couple details here, of what caught our eye about them, from news-reports we read, from their website, or from somewhere else. This SHOWS them we’ve done our “homework” – which is also a sign of our professionalism.]

•       In particular, we’re curious to learn more from you about the XXX [activities/project/program?] you do – and [or?] the challenges you face with XXX [With what? Again, this sends the subject a message that we’ve done our homework and are serious about this topic. Also, some sources may wonder: “Am I truly the right source/most competent one to answer these questions? So, we signal why we think THEY are a relevant source -- and why we wish to meet them. We may also want to include one, two or three general questions that we’d like to explore with them. Some nervous/suspicious sources may ask us to provide a full list of questions. But NEVER send our ENTIRE list of questions. We don’t want to allow them to fully prepare for us (or even rehearse), but want to preserve some element of spontaneity during the interview.]

•       I can only imagine how busy you must be, but could you please spare 15 or 20 minutes to meet with me, to answer a few of my questions? [We actually hope for much more, but this would at least get our foot in the door, with enough time to earn their trust and build confidence in us. If it goes well, they’ll answer our questions well beyond 15-20 minutes.] Are you free XXX [Later this week? Early next week? Identify several possibilities that work for us, to show how flexible we are. Then, let them choose which works best for them.] I’d be very happy to come visit you in your office, especially to see your operation in action.

•       Thank you very much, in advance, for your time and cooperation. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact us at XXX [Our telephone number, social-media platforms, etc.] or here via email.

•       Sincerely, XXX [Our first name(s)]

•       [Our full name and full contact information]

The Follow-Up: Polite, But Persistent

In 1997, I briefly teamed up with an (unnamed) New York Times reporter for coverage from the remote Balkan nation of Albania, where internal strife between extremist political factions had turned violent. Scrn? The NYT reporter and I wanted to interview a key official, but struggled to track him down.

It began to feel like the guy was stonewalling us, and my colleague grew increasingly frustrated. Mulling our options, she pulled out her phone, dialed the official’s assistant, and unloaded upon her:

Don’t you realize who I am? This is the New York Times!

My jaw dropped. I’d never thought to use such a line – but nor did I ever have that luxury. Working for the NYTsurely opens doors, as most officials around the world would not only feel honored to appear on the NYT’s pages, but they’d probably feel pressured or compelled to speak with an NYT journalist. (As stated earlier, few officials would want to be described in print as “refusing comment.”)

As for me, while by now I’d written for some prestigious papers, none was as renowned or of the global stature of The Times. So, I’d never even had the chance to throw my weight around like that.

But then, after the initial shock of her eruption wore off, I realized two things. First, it wasn’t in my personality to turn that ugly with a complete stranger. (Maybe I’m too nice of a guy?) Second, even if I couldn’t play the influential Times card, I sensed that such ugliness would get me nowhere.

Instead, beyond learning how to “push the right button” (as described above), I developed another technique of necessity: How to press subjects, or potential subjects, politely but persistently.

My rationale: Once we’ve submitted an interview-request, whether verbally or in writing, the onus is always on us to follow-up on that request. It’s not incumbent upon them, nor their responsibility, to reply. Why? Though we both have our own self-interests (as explained above), ours is actually more pressing, more urgent: We need to speak with them now, or soon. On deadline, to please our boss, etc.

While they may indeed be willing to talk, their self-interest is usually less time-sensitive than ours. Moreover, they may not yet realize that speaking with us is somehow in their self-interest.

Sure, it’s ideal if the subject always responds promptly. But they rarely do. We should realize there are so many reasons for why they don’t reply as promptly as we like. Everyone’s busy nowadays. (At least everyone claimswe’re “busy.”) They may have 100 things to deal with – and rank our request as low-priority. It may “slip through the cracks,” and be overlooked or forgotten. Or perhaps they never received it. Maybe it landed in their junk-box. Or maybe our target-subject no longer works there.

Meanwhile, we might mistakenly think to ourselves: They got my request.

Then, we grow complacent: They’re taking their time, weighing their decision.

However, the days start to fly by. We wonder: Why haven’t they replied?

Again, so many things may have happened to our request; did we waste precious time, waiting – and mistakenly thinking that our request was being reviewed by a decision-maker?

Here’s my tactic, which I share with all my Student-Journalists. It starts as I suggested above: We send our email, with all our relevant information, and a subject heading that both catches their eye and states our intention. For example, if sent to Ms. Smith’s assistant: Request to Interview Ms. Smith.

Wait, two more quick points. First, while we aim to interview Ms. Smith, whom we think is the most relevant, necessary or competent person to answer our questions, we might really hope to quote anyone from her organization. Plus, I believe in accountability. Meaning, if I communicate with one person, it’s possible that my failure to secure an interview is only between us, but no one else.

Instead, I usually try to “cast my net” as wide as possible, like a fisherman. So, while I search this organization’s website for Ms. Smith’s name, title and email address, I also identify anyone else who might be a relevant target – like fellow managers or communication officers. (Then save their contact info, too.) What I truly want is for at least one of these people to respond, initially, to get the ball rolling.

Second, we should never, EVER misspell a subject’s name. Especially, when we approach them with an interview-request. Again, we never get a second chance to make a first impression. If we approach someone with their name misspelled, what message do we communicate about ourselves? That we might prove unreliable and untrustworthy when handling real facts of the story, as well. So why talk to us? In that case, let’s be as certain as possible that we have their name and title, fully accurate.

(Later, when writing our story, we should also never misspell our subject’s name: It’s a cardinal sin of inaccuracy and can damage the credibility of our entire story, not to mention our reputation. After all, if we misspell a name – even if it’s only the interviewee who notices this misspelling – then our audience, or that subject, might reasonably wonder about us: What other inaccuracies might they have included in this story? Why should we trust this journalist, if they can’t even spell a name correctly?)

So, beyond the name and title of our prime target, if other names are obtainable, we should probably include one, two or three others (though, not the entire staff!) whom we CC in the heading of this email. This is in hopes that our request is widely read. But we’re also creating what’s known as a “paper trail” of evidence: This journalist clearly tried to give us an opportunity to speak about this topic.

Now, let’s give our main target three days, or 72 hours, to respond. I believe this is a respectful amount of time. If we don’t hear back from either Ms. Smith or her assistant (or anyone else, for that matter), then let’s try Plan B: follow-up with what I call a “friendly reminder.” We take the original email from our “Sent” email box, then insert a fresh message at the top. I often open with my favorite formulation, which offers my subjects the perfect excuse for why they’ve yet to answer me:

Dear Ms. Smith: I can only imagine how busy you must be, but … [Then, continue that sentence with whatever our request was] … have you had a chance to consider my interview-request?

Then, I add these two key words, specifically in parenthesis: (See below.) This should clearly guide them to scroll downward, to read the original email – and my detailed request.

Now, give them another 48 hours to reply. If we don’t hear back after that, let’s shift to Plan C: a phone call. This might make us nervous, since we must verbally pitch ourselves, our idea, our request – and identify their self-interest. Pitching it all as succinctly, effectively and persuasively as possible.

Nervousness is fine. Even normal. But let’s conquer any reluctance to make such calls, for it’s a healthy, necessary experience: We’ll have to “sell” ourselves throughout our career, just as we must sometimes push, persistently, to get what we want. (More in Chapter Twenty-Seven: Build Your Brand.)

To calm ourselves, before calling them, let’s rehearse our pitch a few times. Simply re-read through our email request, highlighting the key points: who we are, for what purpose we’re calling, why we want them, what we need from them. Pitch it all as politely and professionally as possible. Whether it’s to Ms. Smith directly, or to her assistant. But I’d modify this phone-pitch with a fresh opening line:

Hi, I’m so-and-so from such-and-such. Did you happen to receive the email I sent last week, in which I requested an interview with Ms. Smith? No? No problem! I’m calling because … Then, dive in.

Keep in mind, we may have to pitch at least the first part, not once but twice, or more: First, to a receptionist or secretary – to direct us to the right person. Then, depending on how high-ranking our subject is, perhaps their assistant. This person may be a gatekeeper, so get ready to pitch and persuade.

However, what if no one answers at that phone number? Are we sure we have a still-active number? Are we sure their operation still exists? If we live in the same city, there’s always Plan D: Go knock on their door. This is the old-school way of handling such business – but can still prove effective.

We have their address, now check their office hours. Drop in, but not five minutes before closing. Prepare to pitch them face-to-face. First, with a receptionist or whomever greets us at the door:

Hi, I’m so-and-so from such-and-such. I’ve emailed an interview-request to Ms. Smith, about this-and-that. But since I’m in the neighborhood, I thought I’d drop by …

This may work, depending on how charming, persuasive and/or persistent we are. The reason is: The target of our request can now see in our eyes both the seriousness and sincerity. We’ve also proven it with evidence, by showing up at their door. It’s also the human touch: personal interaction, compared with how easy it is to ignore someone via email, or reject them with a “No, thanks” over the phone.

Rejecting someone is much harder to do, once they’re in our face – and we look into their eyes.

Especially, if we add: … I thought I’d drop by. May I request just five or 10 minutes of your time?

Or: I can wait for them, here in the reception area.

Or: I can come back, whenever Ms. Smith is free.

This is exactly what I mean by being polite, but persistent: Learn to not take “No” for an answer. Whenever a brick wall appears before us, figure out a way to get over or around it. Not only is this a personal survival-skill, but a professional one. Imagine telling a boss: I couldn’t even get them to reply.

If Response Is Neither Yes Nor No

Three options now. The ideal, of course, is that they agree to our visit. But what if they don’t?

This now requires skills in both listening and argumentation. First, listen closely for what exactly the source of their resistance is; then, thinking quickly, generate a response to still get what we want.

For example, if they say: No, not interested.

We politely respond: OK. Then may I ask why not?

This goes back to some of the earlier possible responses; let’s identify “The Wall of Resistance.”

On the other hand, imagine if they say: I’d be happy to speak with you, but I’m just too busy.

Sure, they may truly be busy. But again, if they recognize their self-interest, they’ll find the time. Or … perhaps they’re trying to dodge us? We should recognize that within their I’m-too-busy response, they haven’t uttered an outright No. To be clear, they’re not saying: I don’t want to talk to you.

Which gives us an opening. Perhaps there’s the possibility that if they did have enough time, they’d speak with us? This is where I’ll minimize my request: Just five or 10 minutes of your time, please!

Or: Just two or three questions, please?

Then, let’s prioritize which questions we must ask them.

If that doesn’t work, switch gears to an entire new argument: I understand how busy you are. In that case, can someone else please answer my questions? Perhaps your deputy – or another colleague?

Or: Is there someone else in this industry/field whom you’d recommend I interview instead?

The “brilliance” of this approach is two-fold. First, if they were sincere about wanting to assist with our story – yet couldn’t find even 5-10 minutes to spare for us – they should now feel some sense of obligation to find us a colleague to answer our questions.

Second, if we’ll really produce a story on this topic, why would they want a rival in this industry/field to be quoted, not them? This may gently press them to answer our question themselves.

Or, on the flip-side: If they were actually insincere with their I’m-too-busy excuse, because they didn’t want – or didn’t have the courage – to reject us outright, then this follow-up approach flushes out whether they’re seriously willing to answer our questions. Or not.

In the end, they may be savvy enough to realize: Rejecting a journalist’s request doesn’t reflect well upon them, and is risky business. We could always insert within our story:

So-and-so from such-and-such organization declined our request for an interview.

For a more sophisticated audience, this kind of sentence plants a seed of suspicion:

Why wouldn’t they answer their questions? What’re they afraid of?

The overall lesson-learned: We won’t give up. “Kill them with kindness.” Polite, but persistent.

Case Study: Polite but Persistent in Prague

In May 2010, I wrote about my Polite-but-Persistent technique, because it’d recently come up, over and over, during another TOL training session that I led in Prague. In this case, how to apply this technique when you’re pressed for time. For example, when on the road – or in a foreign country.

Please forgive if some of the “psychology of subjects” repeats what I explained above, in greater detail. Instead, view it as reinforcing that lesson – yet applied to this real-world example in Prague:

PRAGUE – When I told family eight years ago that I’d also start teaching journalism, my sister innocently asked, “Really? What’s there to teach?”

The perception, I suppose, is understandable. Grab pen and pad, ask questions, gather information. That’s worth a semester of university?

Last week in Prague, a shoulder-to-shoulder training reminded me how much there is to share about journalism techniques and strategies. In this case, the lessons learned were specific to how to “parachute” into a foreign country and – with time limited – capture enough of the necessary reportage and multimedia elements to produce a meaningful exploration of Czech education.

The key, as always, lies in the advanced preparation: from back home, before your journey even begins. I’ve written about this before, most recently for Harvard’s Nieman Reports. So I won’t rehash here the imperative to “hit the ground running.”

Instead, in Prague I found myself repeating a mantra I’ve adopted over the years: push, push, push – politely but persistently – to get what you need.

My training partner, Andy, and I were working with eight participants, whom we divided into three teams. For more on the substance of what they reported, read my piece in The Mantle.

After lectures on Monday, reporting was to fill the next three days. That’s it. Three days. But one thing soon became apparent: the teams, all of them new to this kind of international reporting, hadn’t lined up enough meetings – especially with the right kind of sources.

On Tuesday morning, I joined the team exploring the IT gender gap, on their visit to a Czech company manufacturing anti-virus software. The plan was to speak with a woman or two working in IT there. Except, as the spokesman then told us, the company has no women in IT, just sales and marketing. Sure, we got some material. But it was no bull’s eye.

Hey, here’s a tip: when time is so precious, and details so crucial, don’t rely on email. Do it the old-fashioned way. Call to ensure that you’ll more or less get exactly what you need from that visit.

With a large window of time until our afternoon appointment, we spent the next two hours in an Internet café. I exhorted them to cast their net wide, find more sources, contact them right away.

They surfed websites, saved contact info, emailed introductions – many sources are nowadays suspicious of strangers calling them out of the blue. They then followed-up by phone.

In such a situation, I start apologetically: “I’m sorry not to arrange this earlier, but I just came across your name/organization. I’m in town for just a few days, but would really appreciate an opportunity to meet you. Could you please make time to meet me either today or tomorrow?”

If they don’t bite, or the answer is some variation of Call back later, here’s what I advise: “Polite but persistent, persistent but polite.”

Consider human psychology. While I often make it seem like I’m asking a favor, I recognize that contacts make a calculation why it’s in their interest to meet me – or avoid me. Most have a compelling reason for why we should meet. It could be a strong financial interest: “If my name, company, organization appears in this article, it may lead to more business, more investors, more donors, etc.”

Maybe it advances their political, ideological or activist agenda: speak with the media, win hearts and minds. Perhaps it’s ego: “I’d love to see my name in print.” Or flattery: “Someone out there actually cares about my thoughts, my opinions, my life?” Or, yes, in rare cases, altruism: “I want to help this reporter, to inform and educate others. He seems nice!”

Heck, even with a corrupt government official who’d prefer to run and hide, you can try something like: “We want to give you an opportunity to defend yourself against critics.”

Figure out whatever button may overcome their resistance. Push it. Politely. Ugliness gets you nowhere. In Prague, I felt this would work: “Your interesting/important/unique perspective would really humanize the article, to help readers better understand what the situation is.”

Not everyone was free or flexible enough to meet. But several were. The team’s Wednesday itinerary filled with three quality meetings.

The next day, I tagged along with a different team, but with similar problems. Except their focus was a bit fuzzy: Is the story about bilingual preschools, or preschools generally? Why focus on bilingual preschools in the Czech Republic, and not elsewhere? What’s unique about them here?

Stay focused on the story, whether it’s something you and your editor agreed to, or if it’s now an angle you find even more interesting or important to readers. Don’t get distracted by all the other details that seem interesting and important, but are not relevant to the story you’re trying to tell.

The reporters met with one preschool director the day before, then had two more lined up for Wednesday. But the schools themselves were not the most interesting thing to us, the trainers. Instead, it was that enough Czech parents now have enough money to support a burgeoning number of bilingual schools, and for some reason they view bilingualism as an important part of their child’s development.

So, after a morning meeting with the second preschool director, we sat for a coffee and brainstormed. They needed Czech parents, not more school directors. Of course, they could have ambushed parents, either dropping off or picking up students. But many of these parents were foreigners, or an expat-local mix, who preferred an international environment to Czech immersion.

That’s why we needed these school directors to help us find the right parents: Czechs. The directors, though, were leery of protecting their students, and of not violating the privacy of their elite, dues-paying clients. We needed to convince them, to push the right button.

One more complication: the previous day’s meeting had not gone so smoothly. The director did not seem pleased to host our reporters, or open to helping them further. The reporters, then, were reluctant to call her back for this “favor.” My answer: you must. The clock is ticking. Be optimistic. Even if that’s not in your nature. Try. You have nothing to lose. Be polite but persistent.

Turns out, the director came through with a name and number.

That night at the hotel, I asked the third team: “What are we doing tomorrow?” They were done. Ready to write. Ready to assemble their multimedia images. Despite having time left for more reporting.

They then explained that a crucial figure in their whole story – the director of a school specialized to teach the Roma minority – had essentially blocked them from visiting his school.

The reasons, to me, didn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he want publicity for what he and his colleagues were trying to achieve? To showcase his efforts to impress donors?

I suggested “Plan B”: let’s show up at the school’s front door tomorrow – and talk our way in. Again, what do we have to lose? If nothing else, I wanted a legitimate reason for not letting us in.

Lo and behold, the boss wasn’t there. And his underlings didn’t hesitate to welcome us in, allowing us to not only visit classes in progress, but take photos and shoot videos of the smiling kids.

Push. Politely, but persistently.

Up next ... CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Interviewing Skills

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