Today, I am thinking about more than being the Perfect Housewife. I am attempting to become the best woman I can possibly be, and sometimes this spills over into my job as a journalist. It is my job to tell you what you need to know, to educate you in current events, and to make sure you don't miss a thing.
This week, it was also my job to keep things from readers. Those who live in Canada cannot have escaped the trial of (now-stripped of his rank) Colonel Russell Williams, the former commander of Canadian Forces Base Trenton in Ontario. On Monday, he pleaded guilty to 82 fetish break-and-enters, the rapes of two women, and the murders of two more.
The trial lasted for four days, ending with his sentencing yesterday, to two concurrent life sentences with no possibility for parole for 25 years. He is now locked up in Kingston Penitentiary in Ontario, the same prison that currently houses Paul Bernardo and used to hold Clifford Olson.
Though much shorter, the trial brought back echoes in my mind of the Robert Pickton trial, which I attended for nearly a year, used as a basis for my journalism honours thesis, and wrote about almost-daily.
During both trials, photos and video were presented to the court. Some of these photos were then released to the media, including photos of the pig farm (Pickton) and the hundreds of items of lingerie stolen during break-and-enters (often modeled by Williams). However, many were not, for which the entire world should be grateful.
Thus, it was up to the editors and reporters of every newspaper what they would write about and print. This week, the details flowing out of Ontario were gruesome, depraved and sadistic. They were horrifying, disgusting, and at times extremely heart-breaking.
I love my job, I do. I have wanted to be a crime reporter since I was in first year journalism school and I was sent on a ride-along with the Vancouver Police. But there are weeks, and trials, that are extremely hard to take. The trial of Russell Williams was one of these trials.
It is never easy to be a crime journalist. It is fascinating, rewarding and eye-opening, but it is never easy. It is our job to tell you what you need to know without horrifying you. It is also our job to make sure you know the magnitude of the crimes committed.
It is a very fine line, and it can be wearing sometimes. However, I went into journalism knowing what I was getting into, and I do not regret the decision. Most people who read the newspaper do not realize what went into the story they are reading, and thus, this post is born.
When you read that news story about the murderer, the rapist, the abuser, remember that someone wrote that piece. Remember that someone had to read the court transcripts, interview the victim's family, and look at many, many photos. Remember that someone listened the words of a parent who has lost their child, a brother who has lost his sibling, or a friend who has lost their confidante.
I read those horrific details so that you don't have to. I look at those photos so that I can choose the one least likely to hurt you. I listen to those people so that I can write the best story, the story that will show you the human face of this crime.
And sometimes at the end of the day, I cry at what I have heard. Remember that next time you don't like how something has been portrayed in the media. A real person wrote that story, a person who lives a life very much like yours. I am not a monster looking for the most sensational angle. I do not live to hurt other people, or profit from the pain of others.
My job is to keep you informed, up-to-date and knowledgeable. But sometimes, it is also my job to keep details from you that you just don't need to know, to keep you innocent of the pain that someone else has wrought upon another human being. Sometimes, it's my job to keep everyone else's life perfect.
No comments:
Post a Comment