18 DAYS TO GO!!!

Torch Relay Illuminates debate on journalism


January 24, 2010

The Toronto Star
A year ago, Alice Mawdsley lay in a coma after a snowmobile accident in the Northwest Territories. She recovered and ran with the 2010 Olympic flame in Edmonton this past week.
Fifty years ago, Doreen Ryan was the first woman to compete in speed skating for Canada at the 1960 Olympics in Squaw Valley, Calif. Bill Brese raises money for children's homes in India; Rosanna Saccomani raises money for children in Alberta.


They all ran in the torch relay in Edmonton. I sat next to them on the torchbearer bus and thought to myself: Why am I here?


There's been much controversy in recent months over the fact that at least three dozen journalists and broadcasters will run with the 2010 Olympic flame.


"Did these people have a procedure involving the brain that went badly wrong? Or are they just naturally soft?" wrote former Globe and Mail columnist William Houston on his Truth and Rumours blog after CTV, the official Games broadcaster, announced 27 of its broadcasters would carry the flame.


"They're supposed to be journalists. ... They are not supposed to be part of the Olympic cheerleading torch procession."


My spot came as an invitation from the International Olympic Committee, which also invited a number of other Vancouver reporters on the Olympic beat. Several declined.


Vancouver Province reporter Damian Inwood wrote in his blog that he turned down the offer, not because he was worried it would colour his reporting, "but there might be a public perception that it had. And that's what matters."


The debate about journalists carrying the Olympic torch is an important one – a public example of the types of questions about conflict and special access that reporters deal with on a daily basis.


When the Canadian military decided to allow reporters to report on the war in Afghanistan by staying on base and accompanying soldiers on missions, the idea of "embedding" caused great consternation in newsrooms across the country. Living among soldiers would surely taint the coverage, some argued, despite the fact it was the most practical and presumably safest way into the story of the war.


During my two stints as a war correspondent in Afghanistan, being an embed helped me get to know soldiers not as faceless fighting units, but as people.


Could running with the torch be considered the same?


Houston said no.
"The torch relay is an event used to promote a business enterprise, the Olympics," he wrote in an email.


But after discussions with my editors, the decision was made that being in the relay was an opportunity to get unique access to the workings of this massive national event.


The traditional rules of journalistic ethics are changing for both good and bad reasons, Stephen Ward, a former bureau chief for The Canadian Press who is now the director of the Center for Journalism Ethics at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, told me when I wrote seeking his counsel.


The bad reasons are when reporters simply want to sell news at all costs. Good reasons, he said, are "when journalists want to get closer to the events in their community and not be aloof."
The word aloof rang in my ears.


For two years I've been covering this story and still have not really grasped the power of the Olympics.


The Games are costing Canadian taxpayers more than $2 billion. Just over $14 million is being spent by the federal government on the relay alone. But there's little clarity on where it's all going. VANOC's zeal in protecting its image has at times gone to seemingly absurd lengths – the committee even refuses to allow reporters to interview the people who suit up as official mascots on the ground the mascots are "real" people, they just can't speak.


With thousands of homeless people on the streets of Vancouver, it's easy to understand why spending billions on a 17-day sporting event can incite so much anger.


Yet there's no other event in the world that sees people from countries committed to blowing each other to bits shake hands across a finish line. What is it that creates so much joy?
Prior to the run, my group of torchbearers was given an evangelical pep talk about how seriously we should treat carrying the flame – that it would change our lives and that "if every person on Earth had a chance to carry the flame, war would end."


As I sat there in my free uniform, clasping the torch I paid $349 plus tax to buy, I wondered if this would in fact be the moment I could finally understand the message Games organizers work so hard to sell. If I felt, even for a moment, the power of the flame then I could put myself in the shoes of the public who believe in it. That emotion could inform my stories as much as my experiences speaking with people whose lives have changed for the worse because of these Games.


My actual run with the torch is a blur. I smiled and waved and marvelled at all the people lining the route. I didn't feel inspired or uplifted – I felt uncomfortable.


I was flummoxed by children asking me to sign their arms thinking I was some kind of celebrity. I'm not.


I felt ashamed knowing my spot likely meant someone else didn't get a chance. Nor did I really learn all that much about the actual running of the relay that would inform the public about these Games any more than they already know.


So, was the story I got from running in the relay worth compromising my ethics? No.


But running in the relay did force a healthy debate about what journalism means in today's rapidly changing media environment and how far is too far to go for access to a story. If that's what Olympic organizers mean by the power of the flame to inspire, I can say that for me, it worked.


Stephanie Levitz is a Vancouver-based reporter in The Canadian Press.