YASIR KHAN SHARED HIS INSPIRATIONAL JOURNALISM LIFE EXPERIENCE

Toronto – For journalists on the frontlines, instinct is often the difference between survival and tragedy. In a candid conversation, a veteran reporter reflected on moments when his gut steered him away from danger, the trauma of covering natural disasters, and the importance of empathy in shaping both newsrooms and stories.

The reporter recalled a day in Colombo, Sri Lanka, in the early 2000s, when a split-second decision changed everything.

“I woke up in the morning with an appointment at the Ministry of Defense. I needed clearance to work in conflict zones,” he said. “But something told me not to go. I’d never felt that before.”

Despite his head telling him to push forward, he phoned his producer at CBC in Toronto. The advice he received was simple: trust your instincts. Hours later, a suicide bombing struck outside the ministry, right where journalists and officials had been queuing for entry.

“That was a good lesson—to listen to your gut,” he reflected. “I don’t know what it was, but it saved me.”

Years later, while on holiday in India, he witnessed the devastating 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami. What began as a morning of strange sounds and fleeing birds quickly escalated into one of the deadliest natural disasters of the century.

“I called the desk and said something was happening. Then I started running in the opposite direction of the crowd,” he recalled. “I remember being live on the phone, standing on a beach with bodies washing up at my feet.”

The horror of that day left lasting scars. “At one point, I was reporting live while vomiting between sentences,” he admitted. “Every time I smelled bleach for years afterward, it took me right back.”

It was only through family—particularly his young daughter’s love of the sea—that he began to confront his PTSD. “I couldn’t let my neuroses destroy her joy. Slowly, I taught myself to go back into the water.”

The journalist also reflected on how newsroom culture has shifted over the years. In his early career, young reporters were often toughened through humiliation and harsh critique. But, he says, kindness—not cruelty—was what truly shaped him.

“The best bosses weren’t the ones who yelled or threw scripts in your face. They were the ones who took me by the hand and showed me how to do it,” he said. “Being unkind to young talent is the worst thing you can do in a newsroom. I’ve fired people for that.”

Today, he champions what he calls the empathetic edit—a process where editors work with journalists to guide their storytelling, rather than tearing it apart. “Empathy inside the newsroom builds better journalists. And empathy outside the newsroom builds better journalism.”

He draws a sharp distinction between sympathetic reporting, which he calls “exhausting and shallow,” and empathetic storytelling, which he believes can move audiences to act.

“A sympathetic story makes you feel pity. An empathetic story puts you in someone else’s shoes,” he explained. “It’s harder to do, but it’s more powerful. It leaves people less drained and more engaged.”

Reflecting on today’s media landscape, he lamented the prevalence of formulaic, pity-driven pieces on television. “I watched two stories this morning that just wanted me to feel sad. That’s not journalism. The job is to help audiences understand people, not just pity them.”

From near-death experiences in war zones to the psychological toll of disaster reporting, his career has been shaped not just by stories, but by the human lessons behind them.

“Instinct, empathy, resilience—those are the tools that matter most,” he said. “We all set our own boundaries as journalists. The important thing is to do the work with humanity.”