When a loved one is taken hostage, the violence extends far beyond the moment of capture. In their Issue Brief published by The Soufan Center, Media and Communications Considerations in Contemporary Hostage-Taking: An Exploratory Analysis, Stephanie Foggett and Sarah (Levinson) Moriarty examine a dilemma that is as emotionally charged as it is strategically unclear: whether silence protects hostages or whether publicity creates leverage. Their analysis situates families at the centre of this question, not as peripheral actors but as individuals suddenly forced to make decisions with potentially life-or-death consequences in an environment defined by uncertainty.
The paper makes clear that families are rarely prepared for this role. When an individual is taken hostage, “it is often the family members of the hostage that become the core driving force behind the captive’s release”. This responsibility unfolds while families are navigating what is described as a “complex and opaque information ecosystem”, one in which government agencies, intelligence services, employers, journalists and advocacy groups all play a role, often with competing priorities. At the same time, families must cope with “immense psychological pain and trauma”, sometimes with no contact from their loved one and little clarity about what actions might help or harm.
At the heart of this experience lies the question of media engagement. Families are often told not to speak publicly, particularly in the early stages of a case. The logic behind this advice is familiar: that publicity could raise a hostage’s value, harden a captor’s position, or reduce space for negotiation. As the paper notes, “many families report being advised to keep quiet about their loved one’s case in the hope that ‘quiet diplomacy’ will succeed behind the scenes.” Yet the analysis is careful to point out that this guidance is rarely grounded in robust empirical evidence, and that it is frequently applied as a default rather than as a case-specific strategy.
The tension between silence and speech is vividly illustrated through the voices of families who have lived with the consequences of both. Carl Mueller, whose daughter Kayla Mueller was murdered by ISIS, recalls how media exposure intersected disastrously with political messaging. “One of the first demands from ISIS was absolutely no media,” he said. “A week later, President Obama did the same… Five days later, ISIS announced publicly that Kayla was dead. She became a liability ISIS could not afford to keep.” The paper does not present this as a definitive argument against publicity, but as a stark reminder that media dynamics can interact unpredictably with hostage-taker calculations.
Other families have reached the opposite conclusion: that silence can entrench neglect rather than enable resolution. The Issue Brief captures this unease by asking whether requests to avoid media engagement “prioritise the government’s interests, while perhaps conflicting with the hostage’s best interests”. David Whelan, whose brother Paul was wrongfully detained in Russia, describes the imbalance plainly: “We felt that by remaining quiet, it allowed the U.S. government to continue to ignore Paul’s wrongful detention… The asymmetry did not seem appropriate.” For families confronting state hostage-taking in particular, silence can feel less like protection and more like invisibility.
A central contribution of the paper is its insistence on intellectual honesty about what is not known. “Very little literature from academia, policy, and advocacy” has examined whether media attention shortens detention or improves recovery outcomes. Hostage negotiations are, by nature, closed and fragmented, and publicly available data is sparse. Even successful resolutions rarely reveal which intervention mattered most. As hostage negotiator Mickey Bergman reflects, “I never really know which of the multiple efforts was the one that made the difference… when enough levers are pulled, and a certain critical mass is achieved, the world can look very different on the other side.” Within this framework, media attention is neither a cure nor a curse, but one possible lever among many.
The rise of state hostage-taking has further complicated this landscape. Practices once associated primarily with terrorist or criminal groups are now increasingly used by governments as tools of leverage, often under the guise of legal process. The paper notes that states “use their criminal justice systems to create a veil of legitimacy around their hostage-taking actions”, making these cases harder to challenge and harder to resolve. Unlike non-state actors, states cannot be confronted with military rescue operations, but they may be more vulnerable to international pressure, sanctions and reputational costs. In this context, media coverage can amplify condemnation and shape how detention is understood by both domestic and international audiences.
National political culture also plays a decisive role. The Issue Brief highlights how approaches to hostage negotiations and media engagement vary widely between countries. In some contexts, “talking tough to terrorists scores political points”, while in others public mobilisation is expected and rewarded. These cultural assumptions shape how governments respond to publicity and how families’ actions are interpreted. For families, understanding these national narratives becomes part of assessing whether media engagement is likely to help or hinder their case.
The paper situates these questions within the much larger body of scholarship on media and terrorism, where hostage-taking has long been understood as a form of theatre. As Brian Michael Jenkins famously observed, “terrorism is aimed at the people watching, not at the actual victims”. Hostages, in this sense, become instruments for generating attention, sustaining relevance and broadcasting demands. Yet the analysis cautions against applying this framework too neatly to state hostage-taking, where propaganda is often subtler and where the ethical responsibilities of journalists are less clearly articulated.
Media ethics therefore loom large throughout the discussion. Drawing on existing guidance, the paper notes that journalists must assume hostage-takers have access to anything published and must avoid reporting that could endanger lives. At the same time, the authors warn that blanket silence carries its own risks. In some cases, withholding information can obscure danger, delay accountability and prevent wider audiences from understanding the scale of the threat. “Blanket requests on media organizations,” the paper argues, “present their own dangers”, particularly when they serve to protect institutional comfort rather than human life.
Perhaps the most striking gap identified in the analysis is whose voices are missing. Despite extensive scholarship on terrorism, negotiations and media ethics, research “rarely centers on the perspective of the hostage or the needs of family advocates”. Former hostages themselves have described how publicity decisions were sometimes forced upon them. Brittney Griner recounts that when Russian authorities released footage of her, “they had to respond openly”, abandoning efforts to “quietly get me home”. Such accounts underline how control over media narratives is often illusory, especially when state actors decide to act publicly.
The Issue Brief ultimately resists the temptation to offer prescriptive answers. Instead, it argues that media attention “should not be framed as a solution in itself”, but that it remains “an important instrument available to families advocating for a loved one’s release”. The call is not for louder voices at all costs, nor for enforced silence, but for more research, greater transparency and a genuinely hostage-centred approach. In a field dominated by secrecy, power asymmetries and political calculation, the paper published by The Soufan Center makes a compelling case that families deserve not only sympathy, but agency, evidence and a seat at the table when the decision to speak or stay silent is made.
