For journalists covering politics, and this very much includes VanRamblings, few tasks are more fraught than writing critically about political figures they have come to know well, respect, or even like.
In recent days, VanRamblings has been critical of Mayor Ken Sim, who we know and — to be perfectly frank, we — like (in the days to come, we will publish a supportive story of Mayor Sim). VanRamblings take no great pleasure in writing critically, or negatively, about a political figure, be it Mayor Sim, or Premier David Eby.
The above said, we acknowledge that the craft of political journalism demands objectivity, independence, and an unwavering commitment to the public interest.
Yet, the human element of this work cannot be denied. Political reporters often spend years in the company of the same politicians — interviewing them in hallways and offices, sharing off-the-record conversations, and at times even developing bonds of mutual trust. Against this backdrop, when a journalist is faced with reporting something unflattering, or deeply critical about a politician with whom they have built a rapport, the weight of the responsibility can feel crushing.
The essence of the journalist’s dilemma is a tension between personal loyalty and professional duty. On one hand, the journalist is human, and to knowingly cause another person pain — especially a hard working public figure who has chosen a career in public office — can feel cruel. On the other hand, journalism’s higher calling is to serve democracy by ensuring that those in power are held accountable.
As Finley Peter Dunne memorably wrote in his 1902 book Observations by Mr. Dooley, the role of the press is “to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” That phrase has endured because it distills the moral purpose of journalism: to give voice to the powerless while scrutinizing the powerful. Political figures, by definition, fall into the category of the comfortable.
This mission often collides with the personal relationships that naturally develop between journalists and politicians. When a journalist covers a politician for years, the proximity can foster understanding and even admiration. A journalist may see the long hours, the sacrifices of family life, and the sincere desire by the political figure to substantively improve the lives of constituents who placed them in office.
Such observations humanize politicians, stripping away the caricatures often presented in the media. In turn, politicians may confide in journalists, trusting them with context, nuance, and moments of vulnerability that rarely make it into print, or onto your screen. Out of this closeness, empathy grows. And empathy, while essential in making reporting fair and textured, can also — from time to time — soften a journalist’s willingness to strike hard when the facts demand it.
To manage this tension, ethical journalists rely on principles that act as guardrails.
The first is the unwavering primacy of the public interest. However difficult, the journalist (and that includes VanRamblings) must remember that their ultimate loyalty is not to politicians, but to readers, viewers, and the democratic system itself. The second is transparency: by disclosing potential conflicts of interest and being open about their methods, journalists reinforce their credibility. The third is fairness. Criticism need not be cruel; it must be grounded in facts, and contextualized with nuance. In this way, the journalist can both honour their human empathy and fulfill their professional obligation.
Still, even within ethical frameworks, the emotional toll for the journalist is real.
Journalists who publish critical stories about politicians they respect may face strained relationships, loss of access, or even feelings of guilt. Yet this hardship is part of the profession. Indeed, it is in navigating these very difficulties that journalism earns its claim to being a cornerstone of democracy. If members of the press flinch from their duty, those in power would operate with impunity, and the public would be left in the dark.
The adage attributed to Dunne — “comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable” — serves as a guiding light precisely because it acknowledges the discomfort inherent in journalism. It is easier to flatter than to confront, easier to protect relationships than to risk them. But journalism is not meant to be easy. It is meant to be honest, courageous, and unyielding in the face of power.
For the journalist who must write critically about a political figure they admire, the pain is real, but the obligation is greater. In choosing to afflict the comfortable, even when it means hurting someone they know and admire, the journalist ultimately fulfills the noblest promise of their profession.
