We recently celebrated Nurses’ Week, when we see nurses receiving thanks for their hard work and dedication to health care. This recognition is essential, and our community needs to hear it. And then, for the most part, nurses will fade from coverage again until the next year.
Indeed, for more than two decades, nurses have appeared in only about 2 percent of health news reporting. During that time, two facts have remained unchanged: Nurses make up the largest sector of the healthcare workforce, with a caring presence in every practice setting, and we have been consistently named the most trusted profession, according to Gallup.
One thing that has changed? The simultaneous and rapid decline of trust in mass media — and the rapid rise of misinformation, disinformation and political propaganda in turn. Journalism is, in fact, one of the least trusted professions today.
It follows that, as American journalism scrambles to rescue its newsrooms, the industry would benefit from not just including nurses in their coverage but from adopting a nursing model and lens.
Nurses are trusted to enter people’s homes, deliver their babies, clean their wounds and prepare their dead for burial. That trust is not accidental; we cultivate it. Nurses must forge genuine connections with every person they meet in order to be clinically effective. Genuine connection requires unconditional respect — even if a person has done or said (or represents) what you believe to be abhorrent.
Our colleagues in journalism cannot say the same.
And so, we find that nurses are not being shut out of national discourse because of something we lack; we are being shut out because something is lacking in journalism today. Those who claim to be curious are often only selectively curious. Those who claim to speak truth to power might, in fact, be blind to the ways in which they rest in their own power — and uphold harmful power structures.
Across the political spectrum, journalists project the confidence of people who hold the truth. In panel discussions, anchor monologues and reporting, they often start with what they know and confirm their knowing.
One thing nurses know, on the other hand, is how to recognize what we don’t know. We could not possibly know the complex worlds from which our patients emerge, carrying their baggage, hope and trauma to the doors of our clinics and emergency rooms. So we ask.
The first step in the nursing process is “assess.” To assess a situation means asking questions and receiving answers without judgement. It often means sitting with someone in narrative messiness, contradictions and non-answers. It can mean allowing someone to (at least for now) hold onto a false belief as they grapple with a painful or confusing new reality.
Nurses prioritize people’s stated need, even if it’s not our clinical priority. We validate people’s concerns, even if we do not share those concerns.
Asking and listening without judgement is the first step in building trust. Yes, it is common for journalists to ask questions, but for many, judgement is inherent to their professional paradigm. The “journalist-judge” already knows what their audience needs. So, they scrutinize the relevance of honest human responses, discarding the messy bits, carefully curating a gallery of their own design.
Nurses, on the other hand, practice informed consent. We lay out all the options, discuss the pros and cons, and let people decide their own course of action.
When it comes to giving advice, we use proven, science-based communication tactics to motivate behavior change — teachable tactics that journalistic interviewers could use, too. We collaborate and encourage; we don’t tell or force. We know that telling a person stuck in an unhealthy thought or behavior pattern what to do will only lead to resentment or rejection.
We do not mock, interrupt or condescend. In fact, we aim to speak in accessible ways — to speak at a slow pace, define new terms, and confirm that people have heard and understood (using techniques like “say back”). We aim to bring everyone along, not just those with university educations who can speak English or (in the case of broadcast news) process rapid speech between commercial breaks.
Finally, nurses stay, even when everyone else has left — even when there are no resources. Studies show we are often the last clinician to remain when hospitals and clinics fail, and when rural towns are left with no other healthcare infrastructure. We know it is cruel to see people suffering, offer hope and resources, and then take those resources away.
Nurses stay after journalists leave, too. Wildfires that rage across television screens, houses that float away, death tolls that are unprecedented rarely receive a follow-up by our colleagues who cover them. And how often does the coverage include an actionable take-away, such as a QR code for donations, phone numbers for help lines, or any mechanism for collective action?
The fact that journalists can hold captive to millions of viewers and readers and, quite often, not share anything actionable is unacceptable. You bring the horrors of this world into our lives and leave us with little more than political pseudo-solutions and bipartisan blame. Has this worked yet?
The fact is, newsrooms across the country are failing. Those that survive will be the ones who recognize it’s time for a radical departure from business as usual. Good stories, gathered and told through a nursing lens, have the potential to heal our country. They might save our newsrooms, too.
Rose Hayes, RN, BSN, MA, is a nurse and a writer who helps scientists and clinicians to share their work with the public. Her opinions are her own and do not reflect those of any institutional affiliations.
