Journalism is too small or too distant a word to cover it. It is theatre; there are no second takes. It is drama – it is improvisation, infiltration and psychological warfare. It can be destructive in itself before any print has seen the light of day. It is exhilarating, dangerous and stressful. It is the greatest job. It is my job.
I am an undercover reporter. For the past year or so, I have been a football hooligan, a care worker, a bodyguard and a fashion photographer. It is a strange life and a difficult one. In the course of a day, I have assumed four different personalities, worn four different wardrobes and spoken four different street dialects, and a left a little bit of me behind in each of those worlds. More important than this, though, are the experiences and emotions I’ve taken away with me. It’s hard to put a label on them. They have seeped in and floated out of my psyche, but somewhere in the backyard of my mind the footprints of this strange work are left behind.
I have as yet no real notion as to what, if any, long term impact they will have. For the moment, I relish the shooting gallery of challenges that this madness has offered me. In the midst of all these acting roles and journalistic expeditions, I have endeavoured not to sacrifice too much of my real self. I have not gone native and I am still sane. At least for the moment.
In the course of any one investigation, you reveal yourself in conversation and etiquette, mannerism and delivery – of thousands of gesticulations and millions of words – and cover yourself with the embroidery of many different disguises. If one stitch is loose or one word misplaced, then everything could crash, and perhaps violently so.
Certainly, as a covert operator, the journalistic safe line is a difficult one to call. Every word you utter is precious, every phrase, insinuation and gesture has to be measured and considered in legal and ethical terms. Even the cadence of your voice has to be set to appropriate rhythms according to the assumed role, the landscape and the terrain of your undercover patch.
The golden rule is this: as an undercover reporter you must never be the catalyst for events that would not otherwise have occurred, had you not been there. The strict guidelines within broadcasting organisations about covert filming mean that, every time I go into the field, a BBC committee or compliance officer has to grant permission first. It’s a strange but necessary experience for someone like me, who operates on instinct and intuition, but it’s a marriage that works well.
The undercover reporter is a strange breed. There is no blueprint that exists. It is your own journalistic ethos and within those parameters you try to tread a safe line, both in terms of your journalism and personal safe-keeping. And of course, there’s a high price you pay for this kind of work, home is now a BBC safe house. The only visitors to my bunker are work colleagues. It’s not a pleasant lifestyle, but I have taken on all the stories in the full knowledge of the risks involved.
Though I embarked upon my journey with enthusiasm and determination, the climate in which we undertake this journalistic and documentary mission is an increasingly hostile one. It is one in which covert filming has come under scrutiny because of concerns about fakery and deception and the featuring of hoax witnesses. Issues concerning privacy, the use of covert filming techniques across the media – from current affairs to the tabloid newspapers – and the way journalists work with these tools have been rigorously appraised. I personally welcome this scrutiny.
Hi-tech surveillance equipment allows me to tell the story as it unfolds, surrounded by its own props, revealing its own scars and naked sinews, and delivered in its own dialect. There is no distortion and only one editorial prism – mine. While the sophisticated technology allows a visual and aural presentation of events, mentally I rely on the traditional method of jotting things down to rationalise my thoughts and gain a coherent picture of all that I was involved in. This is my delivery system – how I narrate.
Inevitably the spotlight has shone on me but those who have worked on either paper trail investigations in newspapers or in television will know that it will fade. I am happy to return to the career of a desk journalist because I recognise that the tools we have used are tools of last resort. I’ll be returning to the more usual journalistic methods: telephone and computer notebook rather than secret cameras and hidden microphones. But the aim will be the same: to shed light into the darker corners of society where the vulnerable are most at risk.