Rape in a Small Town

No one breathed a word to me about his upcoming trial during my first two months on the job. No one even called me after a story I wrote included the boy's name as one of several friends who had built ramps into their homes so a recently paralyzed friend could visit. His trial would start less than a week after that story ran. In every other community where I've worked, at least one neighbor, elderly resident or busy body would have called and said, "Don't you know that the boy you wrote about today is facing rape charges?"

Only after he had been convicted on four counts of sexual assault did the police hand me a short press release — saying that a jury had found the boy guilty of raping a 15-year-old girl the year before.

At the sentencing, the courtroom was packed. I assumed the crying girls in the back row were there to support the victim, but I soon learned they were advocates for the boy.

Listening to the judge, I thought this would become the story of two families torn apart by this crime. Two families had lost the children they had known — one to prison and one to post-traumatic stress disorder, nightmares and flashbacks. I asked both families to talk to me the day of the sentencing, but only the girl's family agreed. Her father's words echoed in my head for weeks: "We were treated like we had a disease."

Eventually, I met with the boy's parents and his sister, but they declined to talk about the case. The story evolved into a tale of survival, Laura's story.

That meant building trust with Laura and her family. That had already begun with my story on the sentencing — before we ever sat down for an in-depth interview. Laura's mother often referred to the balance and objectivity she saw in that story. I also brought Laura's family past articles of mine so they could get a sense of how I tell the stories of people's lives.

We talked at length about how the family would be identified in the paper. Although the Providence Journal 's policy is not to name victims of sexual assault, if Laura had wanted to be identified fully, we told her that was a decision for her and her family to make. My editor on the project, Mimi Burkhardt, and I talked often about the name debate and all of my reporting. Our deputy executive editor, Carol Young, shared clips with us from over the years on the debate to name or not to name rape survivors. I shared those with Laura's family. It helped her and her parents continue with the interviews when they heard from me that editors at the paper were committed to this story and had given me time to work on it away from my daily routine.

Some days, Laura was strong and proud that she had spoken out about the rape — and she wanted her full name in the paper. But she was just 17 when the story would run, and her father had strong reservations. He had always been careful about protecting his family, and he worried about his daughter's life becoming so public in such a small state. Laura's parents asked if we could use a pseudonym. But in the end, her mother thought it just wouldn't sound right if we gave her daughter a different name. She had spoken in depth about how she mourned the loss of the old Laura. She hadn't mourned the old Mary or the old Susan.

On bad days, Laura questioned whether to proceed with more interviews at all. She and her parents persevered because they truly believed that they could help others by telling their story. Laura had spoken up initially because she didn't want other girls to face what she had gone through.

Mimi and I met with a photo editor who selected Bob Thayer for the job — because of his sensitivity, award-winning photography skills and the rapport he easily develops with sources. I brought samples of Bob's work to the family first, so they could get a sense of how it's possible for a photographer to capture emotion without revealing someone's identity.

When Bob and I went together to Laura's home, his gentle nature put the family at ease. Back in the newsroom, editors debated with us which photos to run, ever mindful of not identifying Laura but of helping tell the story with the photos. In the end, the lead photo became the mirror portrait of Laura. It was Bob's idea for Laura to hold the small mirror and gaze into it as a way to portray the fragmentation of a rape.

I don't think any of us were prepared for the outpouring of support that Laura and her family got from the moment people read the story. Within two weeks, 150 rape survivors, parents, children and people who said they knew nothing about rape had e-mailed me. Survivors poured out their souls to me, and nearly everyone asked me to forward their comments to Laura. From a community that had so protected the rapist, I only got six negative e-mails, from the boy's closest friends.

A few days before the story ran, Laura's mother had told me she didn't know what they would have done if I hadn't arrived, asking to hear their story and listening to what they had to share. After the story ran, Laura's father said he felt as if the cancer inside him were gone, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

It is for those reasons that I am grateful to the Dart Center for recognizing news coverage of victims of violence. It can be too easy in the daily news business to report on a trial, a sentencing or a violent crime and then move on, not finding the time to delve into the effects that crime has on its victims. Such recognition by the Dart Center gives us all time to pause and to thank the Lauras of the world for sharing their lives with us. I personally want to thank Laura and her parents for their bravery in speaking out. They have helped many to understand the effects of this crime and community reaction to it.

On behalf of Mimi and Bob and the entire Providence Journal, I thank the Dart Center for its continuous work to improve news coverage of trauma, conflict and tragedy. We are honored to be the recipient of this year's Dart Award, and we look forward to tonight's debate about the use of violent images in the media.

Thank you.