John Haltiwanger on Foreign Policy Reporting, Integrity, and What Comes Next

John Haltiwanger came at journalism the long way around—through teaching, through living abroad, and through the slow realization that the world’s “big” events aren’t abstractions when you’re sitting in the places they’ve reshaped. In Georgia in 2012—still living in the shadow of Russia’s 2008 invasion—he began talking to people, writing, and noticing how much of America’s global footprint even an engaged American can miss until it’s suddenly right in front of them.
In this conversation, Haltiwanger walks through that “zigzag” path into national security reporting, why subject-matter depth matters as much as newsroom networking, and how he draws the line between access journalism and accountability journalism. He also breaks down the practical craft: vetting sources, weighing harm, protecting identities, and staying fair without pretending neutrality.
As the economics of media keep shifting—and as trust, literacy, and distribution change in real time—he argues the next generation of foreign policy journalists will need range, adaptability, and a clearer public-facing explanation of why distant events matter at home. And he closes with a book that shaped his instincts for perspective, narrative, and resisting inherited frames.
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—John Haltiwanger is a journalist covering U.S. foreign policy and national security who has reported for outlets including Newsweek, Business Insider, and Foreign Policy. 

The first spark: Georgia, geopolitics, and the limits of what we notice
Ben Wolf (BW): To begin: knowing that you’ve "built your beat" around U.S. foreign policy and national security reporting, what was the first moment you realized this was the lane you wanted to commit to professionally, and why?

John Haltiwanger (JH): I’m not sure there was a singular moment, but a really formative experience for me came not long after undergrad. I’d pursued a certification to teach English as a foreign language, and for a brief period I actually taught U.S. history and AP World History. I’ve always been into geopolitics—the history of politics, the history of interactions between countries.
While I was teaching high school, I realized: I’m not sure I want to get locked into a career quite yet. So I accepted a job teaching English abroad in Georgia—the country—in 2012. It was a couple of years after Russia had invaded Georgia in a really short war that was also quite formative for the country, despite the fact that it only lasted a couple of days.
It was clear it was still having an impact on Georgians and on the country—particularly given Russian forces were still occupying two internationally recognized Georgian territories, South Ossetia and Abkhazia. I started talking to Georgians about it a lot. And I started blogging about it.
And I realized: I’m very into this geopolitics thing.
There was another moment where I was in Tbilisi, the capital. That wasn’t where the school I taught in was—I taught at a school about three hours from there in a pretty small village. But I remember going into this Irish pub and running into all these U.S. Marines who were there to help train Georgian troops involved in what at the time was called ISAF—the International Security Assistance Force—basically NATO and allied troops in Afghanistan.
I was 23. I grew up in D.C. I always thought of myself as fairly aware of what America is doing around the world and its global footprint, but it was a shock to me that these Marines were in Tbilisi—and I had no idea.
It was humbling and eye-opening about the limits of my own knowledge about what the U.S. does around the world. It reignited this desire within me to have a better understanding of America’s foreign policy role—its military footprint.
While I was in Georgia, I decided to apply for an international relations program. And because I’d had such a great experience internationally, I decided to pursue programs abroad—not in the United States. A lot of the best IR programs are in the U.S.—D.C., Denver, Boston, all over the country—but I thought it’d be interesting to get a non-U.S. perspective on IR. So I applied to a program at the University of Glasgow.
I was really attracted to it partly because they had a strong focus on Central and Eastern Europe, and I was very interested in that region. I got into the program, and while I was there I continued to blog, continued to have conversations with people from around the world about geopolitics—and I realized: this is what I want to do.
I didn’t necessarily know I wanted to be a journalist, but I knew I wanted to write about foreign policy. I loved sinking my teeth into convoluted topics. I loved the IR theory courses—using different theories as tools and lenses through which to analyze the world and current events.
Over the course of my master’s program, I realized: academia is great, but I’d rather be more engaged with things at a fast-paced, current level. And what better way to do that than journalism?
While I was in grad school, I kept blogging. I got some freelance opportunities, and it spiraled into a journalism career. In a lot of ways, I ended up here by accident.


The “zigzag line”: pathways, skills, and what (not) to redesign
BW: You mentioned you’d always been interested in international affairs, but it took time to figure out where you fit within that. Looking back, is there anything you’d redesign or something you’d double down on earlier?

JH: Not necessarily. A lot of fields have prescribed pathways. My pathway into journalism was definitely unconventional. A lot of people go to J-school—they might major in journalism in undergrad, then go to J-school. There are advantages to that if you want to get into journalism: internships or fellowships at media organizations, building the network that can help you get a step ahead. Connections are currency in any field.
That definitely set me back a little bit. I studied IR. I did not have connections to journalism. I really had to put myself out there to get my foot in the door.
But at the same time, I gained a level of expertise in a subject matter that you might not necessarily benefit from in the same way if you’re solely going through a traditional journalism pipeline. I don’t want to discourage people from going to J-school. I guess what I’m trying to say is: we should break away from the notion that there’s a single pathway into any given field.
You should pursue your interest and not worry too much about precisely where you’re going to end up—while still being practical. We all need to pay the bills. We all need gainful employment. That’s just the way the world works.
But I don’t have regrets about the pathway I took. It was a zigzag line—not exactly linear—but pretty much every experience I had along the way, from studying history to my time in Georgia to my master’s program, gave me skills I continue to benefit from.
As a history undergrad, I took a class called historiography—studying the ways the sourcing of an event impacts how it’s depicted: primary sources versus secondary sources; thinking about why a document portrays something in a particular light; what perspective it’s coming from. That is so important in journalism—understanding biases injected into portrayals of events, particularly by people in power who have a stake in portraying certain events in a certain light.
Going to Georgia—without even realizing it—I was unofficially interviewing people about the war and its impact. I was doing what journalists do: you go into the world and talk to people. I was getting soft skills that matter. It is difficult to go out and talk to people.
Even if you’re extroverted, it can be tough. I’ve had to report in difficult contexts. For example, about two weeks after Russia invaded Ukraine, I was reporting from the Poland–Ukraine border, speaking to Ukrainians as they crossed—people who were, in that moment, becoming refugees. You’re talking to them on the worst days of their lives. You can worry you’re invading their space, but you have to remember: this is an important story to tell. This is a major event in history, and you’re doing your part in writing the first draft of it. So you go up and talk to them—with sensitivity and empathy, of course.
Every experience I had helped prepare me for this. I’d encourage people interested in journalism to think about what beats they might want to cover and take courses that interest them. In undergrad, it wasn’t just history: I took Middle East politics, an American presidency course—electives I was interested in. Little did I know I’d end up covering U.S. national security, the presidency, the Middle East years later. I’m a strong advocate for pursuing what interests you.


Access vs accountability: being truthful, not “neutral”
BW: Now, you mentioned everyone has to pay the bills. I came across an article recently describing how incentives in journalism have changed over the past few decades. In today’s media environment, journalists can be incentivized to chase outrageous stories—things that get more clicks. How do you distinguish between access journalism and accountability journalism, and where do you personally draw the line?

JH: It’s a very important question. There are certainly people out there who engage in sensationalist journalism. I think it comes down to integrity and your personal set of ethics.
I got into journalism because I care about the world. I care about my country and the role it plays in the world. The United States is the most powerful country in the world—what we do has rippling consequences for millions, if not billions, of people. I think it’s really important, as a citizen in a democratic country, to keep my fellow Americans informed so they can make the best possible decisions at the ballot box—voting for people who align with their beliefs—and to be informed about what is actually happening around the world. And also: if you did vote for this person, this is what they’re up to on your behalf and in your name around the world.
Media has been under a lot of economic strain, especially as it shifted from newspaper- and magazine-based models to digital. I’ve been laid off multiple times. I’ve faced the economic ups and downs. It’s a tough industry.
There have been publications where I’ve faced pressure to report on things I don’t find particularly interesting or important for what the public needs to know. It’s important to push back on editors when they throw those ideas out.
It’s also important to be flexible and creative about how you report the news. A big part of my job is making the news interesting to people—framing it responsibly, but in a way people will engage with. America is inward-looking. A lot of people don’t leave their hometowns or states. They understand America is powerful, but it’s hard to wrap your head around why events in Syria, China, or Venezuela matter to me. People think: I have work, I’ve got bills, I’ve got a family—I don’t have time to keep up with all this.
One challenge is explaining why it matters—why it impacts you—why it affects oil prices, the value of the dollar, and so on. Or just putting things in context: the sheer amount of money the U.S. spends on defense every year—this is what your tax dollars are going to. If you’re worried about issues like healthcare, more money is going toward defense than healthcare, etc. Contextualizing it.
And making sure I’m fair. There’s a misconception that journalists are supposed to be neutral. We’re not supposed to be neutral—we’re supposed to be truthful. Sometimes the truth paints one side in a negative light. It’s not our responsibility to avoid that because we don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings—particularly if the facts are something the public should be aware of.
When reporters uncovered Watergate—back in the Nixon era—they reported facts about nefarious activity even though Nixon wasn’t happy about it. That’s our job: to speak truth to power, to let people know what’s happening in the shadows—but also to be human about it. Our first responsibility is to do no harm.
That means being selective and careful about information. If I’m speaking to someone in a war zone, and revealing their identity could put them in danger, I don’t do that. If I came across information that could put U.S. operatives or other people in danger, that’s a serious editorial decision: does the public need to know this? What’s the value of knowing it versus the potential fallout?
We have to weigh those things—while also being aware that media is a business. We have to write at a pace that keeps people reading. But you can do that responsibly and ethically.
I encourage anyone interested in this—who believes in democracy and keeping people informed—to pursue it. But be clear that fair and neutral are different. Watergate wasn’t “neutral,” but it was truthful and important.
And one other thing: when you work at a big organization—Foreign Policy, The New York Times, The Washington Post—you’re not just representing yourself. You’re representing the organization, its legacy, and your colleagues. It’s different than some random guy on YouTube claiming he uncovered a scandal. The stakes are higher. If you don’t do your job responsibly, you can hurt a lot of people—including your colleagues. So I take that responsibility seriously: covering things fairly, in a balanced way, doing no harm, and protecting people who need protection.


Sources, anonymity, and vetting information at scale
BW: I’m glad you brought up working at a big institution. I remember a conversation I had with Binyamin Appelbaum at The New York Times a couple months ago. One thing he described was that at smaller organizations you’re really seeking out sources—but at bigger organizations, sources are often coming to you. Have you felt that change? And when sources do come to you, how do you evaluate whether they’re reliable?

JH: That’s a great question. I’ve worked at startups and more established outlets like Newsweek, Business Insider, and Foreign Policy—and yeah, there’s a huge difference.
At smaller places no one had heard of, I really had to seek out sources—chase them down publicly, be relentless with calls and emails. Sometimes you still have to do that even at the biggest outlets, but you do see differences.
And part of being responsible—especially if you’re writing something critical about an administration or someone in power—is giving them every chance to tell their side of the story. You go out of your way to contact them and give them ample time to respond. If you don’t, you’ve broken a fundamental value of journalism—Journalism 101: reach out and give people a chance to respond.
Our job is to put as many pieces of the puzzle together as possible for readers. If someone requests anonymity, you explain why—because the issue is sensitive or their life could be in danger.
When people reach out to me with information, I have to be cautious. If they’re reaching out, they might be looking for attention. Why me? Why this publication? What are they hoping to get out of going public?
At this point—I’ve been doing this for over a decade—you have to be good at sussing out who someone is and what they do. There’s no room for error. Sometimes I get pitches and I’m immediately like: nope. It’s not our job to regurgitate what people in power are saying. We’re not PR.
The type of news I do is high-altitude analytical coverage that helps people connect the dots on complicated national security and geopolitical developments. Vetting is an extremely important part of what it means to be a journalist—and it’s a skill you develop.
Early on, it’s important to ask for help from editors and colleagues: “I got this tip. I’m not sure how valid it is.” I’ve gotten tips before—on massive stories—that, if true, would have been huge, and they ended up being nothing. Someone may have been dishonest or misled.
It comes back to responsibility. When you’re working on big platforms with large audiences, you have a responsibility to do no harm—and that means really vetting information and sourcing to ensure you’re giving the public the most accurate possible information.


The rewards—and the tradeoffs you don’t see coming
BW: Looking back at your career, what has been the most rewarding part—and what’s the biggest tradeoff you wish you’d known earlier?

JH: The most rewarding part is that you get to be a student and a teacher constantly. I’m constantly learning new subjects—getting access to top experts on various issues.
For years, the main region I focused on through national security reporting was the Middle East, because that’s where the U.S. has been most active for a long time due to the war on terror. More recently, with the Trump administration’s increasing focus on Latin America, I had to shift attention there. I was hardly an expert—and I’m still hardly an expert—but I’ve had to build sourcing and learn by talking to really smart people. It’s been fascinating and a privilege.
Another rewarding part is this idea some journalists used to describe as being a “voice for the voiceless.” I disagree with that phrase. I think everyone has a voice, but not everyone has a platform. Not everyone has an audience. So for refugees, people in war zones, people who feel unheard—giving them an opportunity to tell their stories, or doing my best to be an avenue through which they can express themselves—that’s a privilege and a big responsibility.
Talking to people in challenging environments about harrowing experiences and making sure you do their stories justice—because some of the most impactful reporting has a strong human element. If you’re reporting on a war and just giving casualty stats, it can feel robotic. People relate differently to an individual story that reflects broader trends.
I try to lead with empathy. I’m not just using people for their story. Not to sound corny—I genuinely care. Part of why you get into this field is because you believe in human rights, you believe in democracy, and you want to shine a light on abuses. You can approach these issues with care and sensitivity, and make people feel seen and heard in a responsible manner.

​In term's of the biggest tradeoff, I think it would’ve been nice to have someone warn me how tumultuous the profession would be—how many ups and downs I’d have outside my control: layoffs, acquisitions, getting moved around a lot.
When I entered the industry in 2014, it felt like a golden age for new media—Huffington Post, BuzzFeed, Vice News, all these outlets emerging; digital taking over; more video. It seemed limitless—like it would never stop. And then a couple years in, it burst. The older outlets caught up, figured out digital, and they had the money and experience to do it well.
No one could’ve predicted it—maybe some people did, but I didn’t. There have been long periods of unemployment for me. Maybe I would’ve saved more money or prepared better for the rockiness.
But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love what I do. It’s been worth it—in spite of the challenges. That’s life. No matter what field you get into, there will be ups and downs.
I’d also say: if you’re considering journalism, don’t be deterred because it’s rocky. It’s very worth it. You talk to incredibly interesting people from around the world. You’re constantly learning. Sometimes you pinch yourself because you have a front-row seat to history. I feel privileged when I look back on what I’ve been able to report on and the people I’ve been able to speak to.


The next decade: skills, media literacy, and rebuilding trust
BW: As we close, I want to look ahead. If you had to guess how foreign policy journalism will change over the next decade, what do you think will change—and how will that affect people trying to enter the field?

JH: It’s a million-dollar question a lot of people are thinking about—especially at a time like this, when we’re hearing rumors of major impending layoffs, including on foreign desks at outlets like The Washington Post. People reporting from conflict zones could be on the brink of losing their jobs. I actually haven’t kept up with that over the last couple of days—some of this may have already happened—so I apologize if I’m behind. But it’s indicative of the challenges.
And it’s not just foreign policy journalism—it’s journalism in general. Local newspapers have closed. Local outlets have closed. News has become more nationalized, and there are negative repercussions. Local news fuels connection among people you live near. It helps you understand the good and bad things happening around you. When everything is viewed through a national lens, it can fuel divisions.
As it becomes more nationalized, I hope to see efforts to adapt at a local level. Some folks have responded by taking a nonprofit approach to journalism—one example in the D.C. area is The Baltimore Banner. So there are solutions. I hope they spread.
Anyone entering the industry needs to be nimble and flexible. You need a wide skill set. You can’t just be good at one thing. You need to write, do TV, do social media, do quick videos, explainers—because people digest news in so many different ways.
And you need to be a strong advocate for media literacy. A lot of people don’t have strong media literacy education. They don’t know how to discern trustworthy sources. They worry everything is incentivized by money and profit. Look—I’m a journalist; I’m cynical. I have to be. Gullible people will struggle in journalism because you have to recognize people in power have agendas. But there are a lot of good people in media who genuinely care about the country and their communities.
Frankly, a lot of us don’t make that much money. If you’re looking for big bucks, I wouldn’t necessarily pursue journalism. You can make a comfortable living, but it’s tough.
So be clear-eyed about the challenges—be an advocate for media literacy and restoring trust. And the First Amendment is there for a reason. Americans—not just journalists—should be strong advocates for freedom of the press.
If you do get into this field, it’s rewarding—but be prepared for ups and downs. Remember the responsibility. Keep an open mind. Have as many conversations as possible.
And another thing: you have to do a lot of self-promotion. You have to build your own brand as a reporter—even if you work within a brand. It can feel tasteless, but it’s part of surviving in the industry. Pay attention to trends, engage with them, and don’t give up, even though it’s challenging—because it’s incredibly rewarding.

A book that shaped the lens
BW: Finally, if you had to recommend a piece of literature to a reader interested in following your path—or a piece of literature that most influenced your own—what would it be, and why?

JH: Oh, wow—that’s a tough one.
A book I always think back to from college is Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World. I took a class on the Mongols in undergrad. It was really interesting to learn about the ways Western historians denigrated Genghis Khan and elevated the prestige of Western empires compared to the Mongolian Empire.
None of this is to whitewash what the Mongols did—no empire hasn’t done terrible things, and the Mongols certainly did terrible things. But that book was indicative of the importance of balance in writing on complicated issues—context, perspective, pushing against prevailing narratives.
It had a big impact on me as a journalist: it’s important to analyze issues from different perspectives and offer those perspectives in your reporting, so people can come to their own determination about how they feel.
That’s the ultimate responsibility of a journalist, if I distill it: offering different perspectives on a complicated issue and giving people the most comprehensive information available so they can come to the best possible conclusion.
It was also just a great read—an example of taking what might seem like a boring topic to a lot of people and making it fascinating. That’s hopefully what I try to do, too: take something someone thinks they don’t want to read about, but they see the headline or read the lead and think, “Oh wow—I’m going to keep reading. I need to learn about this.”