Redux
Every journey circles home
A death is a death, the end of a life. Whether it comes from war, the quiet passing of old age, a suicide attack, disease, natural disaster, or by our own hand, it has always been part of the human story, through all ages and across all times. For us journalists, the question is not whether we will report it, but why and how we do so.
Journalism exists to shine a light on how war takes children, how cancer devastates families, or why traffic accidents rise, so that change might finally come. Every story carries meaning when it serves a social purpose. The same must apply to suicide, perhaps more than any other subject, because research is unanimous: the way the media portray suicide can save lives or destroy them.
This alone demands seriousness. Romanticizing it, describing the method, or overanalyzing motives all create feelings of identification and despair in those already suffering. They are the true recipients of such messages. For everyone else, it is obvious that another human being has died. Every act of suicide is entirely unique.
Suicide should not be silenced because it is taboo, but should be handled with the utmost sensitivity, since careless reporting can lead to imitation. This does not mean we should not speak about it. On the contrary, we must speak better, guiding the conversation toward mental health, despair, isolation, social causes, and the support that exists. Words have power.
When we report on suicide, we are not reporting a crime, nor hunting for reasons. We avoid language that encourages imitation or glorifies the act. Instead, we tell the story with respect, with empathy, and with the hope that someone, somewhere, might find a spark of hope.
Journalistic education and media literacy do not demand silence, they demand responsibility. Every word, every headline, every image has the power to tip the scale between life and death. Ethical coverage of suicide is not just good journalism, it is a duty to life itself.