For foreign journalists, the Arab Spring uprisings and their aftermaths have ranged from exhilaratingly accessible (Egypt), to mortally dangerous (Libya), to frustratingly off-limits (Syria).
Since Syria’s violent uprising began 11 months ago, the government has strictly limited journalist visas. The relatively few foreign journalists who have managed to enter Syria on a formal visa are required to report at all times in the presence of a government minder. Those denied access have had two choices. The first is to sneak across the border from Turkey, either on their own or with the help of the Free Syrian Army. That choice has proven fatal to two great foreign correspondents, Anthony Shadid of The New York Times, and Marie Colvin of The Sunday Times. Shadid died after an apparent asthma attack, possibly triggered by an allergy to the horses he was riding; Colvin, with the French photographer Remi Ochlik, died under shellfire in Homs on February 22.
The other choice for covering Syria is to report it from a distance, which is not easy. “It’s the hardest story I have ever covered,” says Deborah Amos, an NPR Middle East correspondent. She covered the first months of the uprising from Beirut using Skype, Twitter, and cell phone to reach contacts in Syria—an unsatisfactory substitute, she notes, for reporting on the ground. “You can’t feel it, you can’t smell it and you can’t see it,” she says.
But the problem is not what you might think, a lack of information. The problem is the volume of it, and the difficulty of sorting out what is true.
Much of the information comes in the form of a deluge of citizen journalism from Syria, which “oversaturates, with so many perspectives, anecdotes, and stories,” says Ahmed Shihab-Eldin, who until mid-February was co-host of “The Stream” on Al Jazeera English, a daily program that focuses on social media as a platform for news dissemination. Though it may seem strange for a journalist to suggest there might be too much information, the flood from Syria is so huge that it “complicates the reporting,” said Shihab-Eldin.
Indeed, all kinds of media organizations say they are overwhelmed by the amount of material and the job of monitoring it. Syrian activists post dozens of new stories and videos each day via Twitter, YouTube, Facebook, and dozens of websites set up by revolutionary groups. State-run media also pour out their own narratives and video footage. And foreign news organizations resort to Skype or telephone interviews for direct conversations with activists and ordinary residents in Syria.
Djilali Belaid, head of the Middle East and North American television department at Agence France-Presse, says he watches 60 to 100 YouTube videos from Syria each day, “and maybe only one or two get out,” he says. Before approving any video for distribution by AFP, Belaid tries to reach the author, looks for landmarks or familiar venues in the images, and verifies dates. Then he e-mails the video to AFP’s director of information, explaining what information he obtained on the video. The final decision on whether to distribute is made by the director in Paris.
NBC takes similar steps, using social media to try to directly contact the person who posted a video, according to Marian Porges, a senior producer at the network’s news standards and practices unit. “We ask them if they filmed it, and if they did, then they are usually a good primary source,” said Porges. But if the source took the video from another website, Porges said it becomes harder to verify. In such cases, “we also try and detect landmarks and recognizable places on the video. We ask people in our news division to identify them, or we even ask officials and other sources that we have,” she said.
If the authenticity of a video can’t be verified, NBC decides whether to publish on a case-by-case basis. “If it is crucial to further the story, we go ahead, and we use a disclaimer,” said Porges. Videos that have been posted without independent verification usually show general scenes of fighting and protests in Syria, she said.