Well,
I face a career conundrum, one increasingly hard to ignore.
A
couple years ago, through the vagaries of the shrinking, constantly
morphing newspaper business — and through no choice of my own — I
found myself returning to reporting on crime, fires and other
"breaking news" that comprises so much of the new "online
journalism" model these days.
This
past week reminded me of why I was so relieved to have left that
aspect of my profession — or, so I thought — 16-plus years ago
when I quit The Associated Press for
the flagship newspaper of my region.
Every
day, I am reporting on someone's crisis or grief. A death by
accident, or crime; loss of a home to fire; critical injuries in a
crash that, if not fatal, leave the victims crippled or in a coma.
It
just never stops, this well of our species' pain and suffering
seemingly without bottom, refilled every day with stupidity, greed, rage,
avarice and hubris.
You
get hardened to it all. Gallows humor thrives in the newsroom, a tool
to maintain your sanity in having to report such events day in, day
out, week after week, month following month, year after year.
Then,
a "routine" story turns on you, taking a chunk out of your
heart.
We
do dozens of "missing person advisory" type
stories in a month's time. Kind of a public service, in cooperation
with police, to help locate people in crisis -- runaway teens,
seniors with dementia, people with urgent medical problems, etc.
Usually,
it ends well: someone sees the photo, calls 911, and the person is
safely recovered.
This
past week, a missing 14-year-old girl was the subject of such a
story. But there was no happy ending.
She
was found, having apparently hanged herself, near an irrigation
canal.
In
most cases, our paper does not report suicides unless they are
accompanied by a SWAT standoff or are highly public, such as someone
jumping off a downtown building as hundreds watch.
But
this young woman had been the subject of a major police search
effort, so we had to followup. Reporting the cause of death, suicide, could not
help but further traumatize the family.
I did not name the child, though her name had been out there from earlier reports when she was "missing." The grieving family wanted to insist it wasn't suicide, despite the clear and overwhelming evidence that it was.
"Denial," is a stage of the grieving process, after all.
Police
initially provided some incorrect information, too, which didn't
help. That was reported, though clarified as soon as the details
changed.
Still,
by doing my job, I added to the pain of this grieving family.
Intentions mean little in such situations. Sure, the door was opened,
so to speak, by the public appeal for help finding the girl, the
extensive search, etc. Professionally, we had to to report the
outcome.
But
in my gut, I wonder how much longer I can do that particular job.
What
is more important? Getting the beat on a tragic story over others
just as determined to air dirty laundry? Or, even if you cannot be a
healing hand, at least not being the source of more injury?
It's
not the first time I've asked myself this question over the years.
And, I sigh, more deeply each time, as I consider it likely won't be
the last.
But I wonder. Will there come a time when it is?
