A trauma-informed approach proves essential for reporting on domestic violence

Twenty-one percent of domestic violence survivors who experience homelessness say it was violence that caused them to be unhoused, according to Sofia Herrera, director of research, planning, and policy hub at the Center for Urban Initiatives, an organization that conducts research on the impact of homelessness in Los Angeles.

One would think more reporting would be done on the impact housing shortages have on these survivors, and the vital services that provide them with housing coupled with wraparound services. But as I reported this story, I found how little access survivors have to these critical programs — if they had heard of them at all — and the immense challenges providers face to give survivors the nuanced care they need. 

The biggest lesson from reporting on the complexities involved in obtaining permanent housing as a domestic violence survivor, supported by the USC Center for Health Journalism’s Domestic Violence Impact Reporting Fund, was learning how to get accurate details and stories from sources in the face of unexpected reporting twists and turns. This story forced me to be flexible and willing to compromise. Here are some ways I navigated the complexities of reporting on domestic violence and housing. 

Be flexible with the story you’re seeking to tell.

Sometimes sources will be hesitant to speak with you, or they might decide the day of the interview that they don’t want to share their story. After the first declined interview, you may feel like that the story you envisioned is starting to crumble. Don’t be discouraged. And remember that the entire story doesn’t hang on one person or a particular chain or events, or the perfect live shot. 

After a few weeks of gathering data and research, I set up several conversations with domestic violence shelter workers and permanent housing advocates across Los Angeles. When the scheduled dates fell through, I had to change the providers I spoke with. Interviews I had planned and advocates’ promises of interested clients would turn up nothing as women would change their minds on being interviewed. In other cases, delays in getting women set up in their permanent housing units resulted in postponed visits. In one case, damage to the Sidewalk Project’s wellness center before my visit forced us to talk exclusively over the phone. 

As a result, Lily’s experience, and the stories of lived-experience advocates like Stephanie Gruber, director of permanent housing at the Jenesse Center, became the anchor for the story, with anecdotes from Downtown Women’s Center’s advocates and Sidewalk’s Soma Snakeoil and Jen Elizabeth highlighting the challenges and triumphs providers face. 

For most stories, you will need to pivot as you uncover or receive new information. Talk to as many people you think might be relevant as you can. Even if it isn’t abundantly clear at the time, you may come across a nugget of information that could inform a new angle or a follow-up story. 

Let interviewees know it’s OK to share only what they are comfortable with.

In a previous story, an advocate I worked with said something impactful that will always stick with me: The stories of people who survive violence are sacred. They belong to the people who are choosing to be vulnerable with you, the reporter, about one of the worst times in their lives. Respecting the person means respecting their experiences and not pushing for details that traumatize the individual. 

In this story, I made it very clear from the start that I had no interest in retraumatizing any of the people I am working with, and that I was willing to be flexible with my sources. Remember that these are people who have been through real things. Treat them and their stories with respect. 

Embrace trauma-informed reporting practices.

The Dart Center for Journalism & Trauma gives great examples and explanations of trauma-informed interviewing and researching practices. While researching this story and preparing for my interviews (even my pre-reporting conversations with communications and media liaisons), I used it as a guide and a great reminder for what to do and what not to do. I use some of the techniques outlined in their trauma-informed style guide to assist in creating questions and focusing my work. 

Give sources an opportunity to be anonymous. Each publication has a different way of approaching anonymity. Granting anonymity is an important consideration when reporting on domestic violence, because your sources could very well be facing threats from an abuser and need those protections. 

It also helps to be conversational and build rapport. Find something in common or of interest to come back to when the conversation requires levity. For example, when interviewing a source for this story, she spoke about a pet she relied on while living on the streets, and in her transition to permanent housing. It was as simple as asking, “Can I meet your dog?”  

Other questions might include: Did they achieve a milestone or accomplish a goal? Did they graduate therapy? Find a new job? Join a club? Find a new hobby? Making a connection and getting details about these types of life events may seem trivial, but these are the intricacies that make the lives of the people you speak with go beyond a statistic and become real for your audience. Something they tell you, or even a vulnerability they share, may give deeper insight into the issue you’re trying to tackle. 

For my story, I used a conversation about Lily’s dog to make a connection about her health, wellbeing and success with therapy. 

Approach fact-checking with grace.

Approaching someone who has just shared extremely sensitive or traumatizing details, or someone who may not remember everything, with the need to verify their words may seem off-putting to domestic violence shelter staff and advocates. However, there are ways to fact check without being invasive. I’ve found that often sources are hesitant because they have been burned by journalists in the past who have published inaccuracies or mischaracterizations of the people, places, things or events that appear in the final story. 

Remind your sources that while you support them and believe their story, it is a requirement that you check basic facts they share, such as chronologies, so you can reflect what they are saying accurately. Often, I will offer to let vulnerable sources (this would not apply to public figures, heads of nonprofits, communications managers, or even advocates) check whole pieces or their sections of pieces for accuracy. It is better to be right and let them take the time to review than to publish something that does not reflect the truth.  

For this story, I shared Lily’s section of the story with her and with advocates from Downtown Women’s Center. They read through those parts together and we corresponded over the phone and over email to make sure her story was told with compassion and accuracy. I also collaborated back and forth with Stephanie Grudberg, permanent housing director for the Jenesse Center, to ensure the details she wished to share about her experience as a survivor — and how that experience informs her advocacy as director — came across in the way she wished. 

While there was some initial hesitation on the part of the advocates out of concern for the safety and privacy of the women in permanent housing, the transparency with which I explained the fact checking process and the extra time I took to answer their questions went far when the time came to get feedback on what I had written. 

If you will need any documents regarding survivors, let them know from the beginning, and ask if they are OK with this. If not, find someone else or find a way to verify the information without them.