What do journalists do when they are expected to live from day to day?

Written by: Vladimira Dorčova-Valtnerova, editor of the portal Storyteller

Journalists perform a job that begins long before publication and does not end when the text, video, graphic, carousel post, audio, etc. "goes live" on the website, is posted on social media, or is shared with the public.

Journalists monitor the actions of institutions. They read decisions, minutes, budgets, tenders, public procurements, plans, contracts, reports, resolutions, responses, and non-responses. They keep track of what is promised, what is paid for, what is repeated, what is omitted, and what is hidden from citizens behind dry administrative language.

Journalists read documents that most people will never open, not because they are not interested, but because these documents are often written in a way that causes a person to close them after three minutes and say, “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

Well, it does matter.

Journalists seek the connection between a single decision and the lives of people. Between a public procurement and a pothole on the street. Between a tender and who in the community receives space, money, support, or visibility. Between a budget line and whether someone has transportation, heating, daycare, an assistant, access to a doctor, clean air, a safe street, or the right not to be made a fool by an institution.

Journalists do not just “ask questions.” Journalists must first know what to ask.

They must research the topic. To verify who is responsible. To find the document. To compare data. To see what happened last year. To see if the same job is being repeated. To see who received the money. To check for competition. To see who is silent. To see who pretends not to be responsible. To see who responds in general, and who specifically. To see who sends them three sentences of nothing and thinks that this completes their job.

Journalists send emails. They call phones. They wait for responses. They remind. They resend questions. They submit requests for access to information of public importance. They write complaints. They read the Commissioner’s responses. They check deadlines. They preserve evidence. They create a timeline. They revisit topics even when everyone else thinks it has “passed.”

Journalists go out into the field. In the sun, rain, snow, dust, fog, crowds, protests, meetings, villages, roads, fields, schools, health centers, factories, markets, streets, and places where something is only seen when you stop and look.

Journalists talk to people who are afraid to speak publicly.

With people who say, “Sure, but don’t use my name.” With people who say, “I’ll tell you everything, but I can’t in front of the camera.” With people who have evidence but fear the consequences. With people who are tired of no one listening to them. With people who don’t know how to explain the problem, but know that someone has been making them feel crazy for years.

Journalists must listen. To what is said and what is not said. To what is said loudly and what is whispered. To what someone says out of anger, and what needs to be verified because anger is not proof.

Journalists must be careful.

They must not publish unchecked information. They must not endanger their interviewees. They must not omit the other side—but that side regularly omits them. At least in Serbia. They must not confuse impression with fact. They must not harm someone who already lacks power. They must not forget the context. They must not be anyone's megaphone. They must not be anyone's judge. They must not be anyone's PR.

Yet, at the same time, they are expected to be quick, precise, available, polite, brave, calm, objective, creative, technically proficient, legally cautious, emotionally stable, and somehow financially secure—so figure it out.

Today, journalists often—if not always—must know how to write, shoot, photograph, edit, create subtitles, publish on the website, come up with headlines, adapt text for social media, write descriptions, respond to the audience, track reactions, preserve documentation, and move on as if the previous topic didn’t consume three days of their life.

You must know the law, but you are not a lawyer. You must understand the budget, but you are not an economist. You must recognize manipulation, but you are not an investigative body. You must talk to traumatized people, but you are not a therapist (and you need therapy constantly and every day). You must assess safety in the field, but you are not security personnel. You must explain systemic problems in plain language, but not oversimplify to the point of losing the truth.

And all of this, often, with funding that lasts for three more months. Or until autumn. Or until the end of the project. Or until the donor transfers the next installment. Or until a new tender is approved. Or until the audience donates enough to cover at least part of the expenses, which almost never happens. Or until someone decides that public interest is once again important enough for someone to pay for it.

This is a description of the working environment and position of journalists in media that are not "state" and "national."

Journalists work in an ecosystem where everyone expects them to serve the public, yet few want to admit that public service has a cost.

Because the question of who got the job in a public procurement has a cost. The question of why the road is poorly patched has a cost. The question of why the public enterprise is silent has a cost. The question of who decides about citizens' money has a cost. The question of why the school, health center, municipality, institution, or local community does not do what it should has a cost. Even a nice, positive story has a cost.

The cost is time. The cost is knowledge. The cost is the field. The cost is equipment. The cost is the internet. The cost is fuel. The cost is a phone. The cost is a camera. The cost is editing. The cost is translation. The cost is proofreading. The cost is legal verification. The cost is risk. The cost is nerve. The cost is the capacity to not break down when someone tells you for the fifth time, “We are not responsible.”

Journalists live in the same polluted information ecosystem as everyone else. They are just trying to create a little clean air within it.

And that ecosystem is polluted by institutional silence, party pressures, rigged tenders, half-truths, propaganda, algorithms, insults, fear, (self-censorship?!), poverty, distrust, and the eternal “oh, come on, they are all the same.”

And then the journalist must enter all of this, extract the facts, verify them, explain them, publish them, and still sound calm.

Incredibly calm.

So that they are not “emotional.” So that they are not “negative.” So that they do not “raise tensions.” So that they do not “attack.” So that they do not “politicize.” So that they do not “exaggerate.”

And yet they are simply asking: where is the money, who is responsible, what is written in the documents, why are citizens not informed, and why does the problem keep recurring?

Journalists do not seek applause for this.

But it should not be pretended that this job happens by itself.

And it should not be pretended that professional journalism can survive solely on enthusiasm, defiance, and the phrase “kudos to you.”

“Kudos to you” does not pay for the field. Does not pay for the camera. Does not pay for the accountant. Does not pay for editing. Does not pay for time spent reading documents. Does not pay for days waiting for responses. Does not pay for legal security. Does not pay for someone's work.

Journalists are not the adornment of democracy.

They are the annoying people who ask why something has not been done correctly.

They are the ones who keep track.

They are the ones who revisit the topic.

They are the ones who know that a pothole in the road is not just a hole, but often a story about public money, responsibility, quality of work, oversight, the recurrence of the same problem, and who has the right to ask why all of this is being paid for again.

They are the ones who ask even when no one answers them.

And perhaps that is exactly why it needs to be repeated:

Journalism is not magic. It is not a hobby. It is not a post on social media. It is not a status. It is not “you just sit down and write.” It is not “you shoot something with your phone.” It is not “you have an opinion.”

Journalism is work.

Slow, hard, often invisible, often underestimated, often—too often in Serbia—financially insecure work.

Work that society only notices when it is no longer there.

And then it is usually too late to ask why no one is asking anything anymore.

See you in the field. Until we don’t.