Editing coverage of traumatic events
Jacob Richey quickly identified sensitive and graphic details that could have led to community harm if they were published. Richey immediately spoke up and addressed the issues with newsroom supervisors — a difficult but important conversation Richey is not afraid to have. Please note this story and its unedited draft contain graphic details of an alleged lynching. See the unedited copy from the reporter with Richey’s commentary and reasoning in bold italics under each paragraph, with points of reference highlighted. Then, find the final, published copy from Vox Magazine’s website.Unedited draft
“Please, please, please,” Christian Lewis, 11, begs his 14-year-old brother, Andre Roland. It’s March 24, 1989, and Christian wants to play basketball down the street. “No,” Andre says repeatedly. The two are scheduled to play a basketball game later that day at their church, Progressive Baptist.
His brother’s response doesn’t stop Christian; he continues pleading. Andre finally gives in, even though he knows they aren’t supposed to leave before their mother gets home from work.
By that time, Christian has to use the bathroom, so he tells Andre he will meet him there.
About five minutes later, around 3:30 or 4 p.m., Christian strolls to the basketball goal. He notices the neighborhood is silent.
When Christian arrives, Andre is nowhere to be seen. Christian shouts his name. Pause. He shouts again. And again. There is no reply. Just silence.
At 5:30 p.m., a Clearview subdivision neighbor finds Andre hanging by his belt in a tree near 472 E. Hackberry Blvd., only a few hundred feet from the basketball hoop where the brothers were supposed to meet up.
One end of Andre’s belt is fastened to a tree branch about 4 inches in diameter and the other end is wrapped around his neck. There are no marks on his body to indicate foul play and no signs of a struggle, according to authorities at the time. Local police rule his death a suicide almost immediately.
This vivid description of a hanging immediately stopped me. There were several questions I had going into the story, and this detail made me stop and ask them. The first questions were whether the publication has been in contact with the family, whether the family knows these details, and whether the family is OK with them being published. I ask this because such vivid descriptions can be retraumatizing to victims of trauma, and I believe it would be irresponsible and disrespectful to report them without the family’s permission. The answer was “yes” to all three of those questions, so I moved on to my next question: How might publication of a specific description of a child’s death and alleged lynching create an unnecessary risk of copycat actions? It has been documented that coverage of suicide can lead to copycats — such is the reason the Associated Press advises not to report on suicides outside of prominent figures and not to include descriptions. So, I argued the same reasoning applied in this case. Newsroom supervisors said the detail was left in because it provided context to why the family distrusted the suicide ruling, and I argued the specific details like the measurement of the tree branch is not necessary and could be replaced with a less vivid detail to accomplish the same goal.
Continuing to searchIt has been 35 years, and questions remain. What happened? Where did Andre go in those five minutes? What would have happened if the brothers had walked to the hoop together? Some of these questions might have been answered with a thorough investigation. But many family and community members say that didn’t happen.
For the past seven years, Christian and his wife, Natasha Lewis, have been investigating Andre’s case on their own. They are the only two still searching for answers. “I believe everybody deserves enough respect in life that if anything happens to any of us, I think as far as law enforcement goes for the investigation, I think that we should always do our due diligence and really figure out what happened or what could have happened,” Christian says.
The Boone County sheriff at the time, Ted Boehm, told media outlets that Andre’s death was a suicide. There was uncertainty around the finding almost immediately. No suicide note was ever found. Bill McNear, captain of the Boone County Sheriff’s Department, in 1989, said he had no idea how Andre hanged himself from the tree, according to a 1989 Columbia Daily Tribune article.
Andre was in seventh grade at Jefferson Junior High when he died. He sang in the Progressive Baptist Church choir, participated in intramural basketball and played on a Columbia Parks and Recreation football team. He was close with Norma Roland, his mother, who died in 2003. His father, Charles Roland, lived in Washington, D.C., at the time of his death. Andre had three brothers, Marcus, Christian and John and three sisters, Monique, Racquella and Ronda.
The story continues for a few paragraphs that are excluded from this unedited draft for concision.
Christian and Natasha say the FBI report listed some people that the sheriff’s department supposedly interviewed in 1989. One of them was Wendi Newman, who was a classmate of Andre’s and lived in the Clearview neighborhood. Today, Newman tells a different story. “It says in there that the detectives interviewed us as children, and so far everybody I know of that is listed in there — myself included — did not speak with any police officers,” Newman says.
More inconsistencies cloud the investigation. There are discrepancies over who found Andre’s body. There are discrepancies over his body’s position when he was found and whether the tree limb would have been sturdy enough to support his 175 pounds.
His brother’s response doesn’t stop Christian; he continues pleading. Andre finally gives in, even though he knows they aren’t supposed to leave before their mother gets home from work.
By that time, Christian has to use the bathroom, so he tells Andre he will meet him there.
About five minutes later, around 3:30 or 4 p.m., Christian strolls to the basketball goal. He notices the neighborhood is silent.
When Christian arrives, Andre is nowhere to be seen. Christian shouts his name. Pause. He shouts again. And again. There is no reply. Just silence.
At 5:30 p.m., a Clearview subdivision neighbor finds Andre hanging by his belt in a tree near 472 E. Hackberry Blvd., only a few hundred feet from the basketball hoop where the brothers were supposed to meet up.
One end of Andre’s belt is fastened to a tree branch about 4 inches in diameter and the other end is wrapped around his neck. There are no marks on his body to indicate foul play and no signs of a struggle, according to authorities at the time. Local police rule his death a suicide almost immediately.
This vivid description of a hanging immediately stopped me. There were several questions I had going into the story, and this detail made me stop and ask them. The first questions were whether the publication has been in contact with the family, whether the family knows these details, and whether the family is OK with them being published. I ask this because such vivid descriptions can be retraumatizing to victims of trauma, and I believe it would be irresponsible and disrespectful to report them without the family’s permission. The answer was “yes” to all three of those questions, so I moved on to my next question: How might publication of a specific description of a child’s death and alleged lynching create an unnecessary risk of copycat actions? It has been documented that coverage of suicide can lead to copycats — such is the reason the Associated Press advises not to report on suicides outside of prominent figures and not to include descriptions. So, I argued the same reasoning applied in this case. Newsroom supervisors said the detail was left in because it provided context to why the family distrusted the suicide ruling, and I argued the specific details like the measurement of the tree branch is not necessary and could be replaced with a less vivid detail to accomplish the same goal.
Continuing to searchIt has been 35 years, and questions remain. What happened? Where did Andre go in those five minutes? What would have happened if the brothers had walked to the hoop together? Some of these questions might have been answered with a thorough investigation. But many family and community members say that didn’t happen.
For the past seven years, Christian and his wife, Natasha Lewis, have been investigating Andre’s case on their own. They are the only two still searching for answers. “I believe everybody deserves enough respect in life that if anything happens to any of us, I think as far as law enforcement goes for the investigation, I think that we should always do our due diligence and really figure out what happened or what could have happened,” Christian says.
The Boone County sheriff at the time, Ted Boehm, told media outlets that Andre’s death was a suicide. There was uncertainty around the finding almost immediately. No suicide note was ever found. Bill McNear, captain of the Boone County Sheriff’s Department, in 1989, said he had no idea how Andre hanged himself from the tree, according to a 1989 Columbia Daily Tribune article.
Andre was in seventh grade at Jefferson Junior High when he died. He sang in the Progressive Baptist Church choir, participated in intramural basketball and played on a Columbia Parks and Recreation football team. He was close with Norma Roland, his mother, who died in 2003. His father, Charles Roland, lived in Washington, D.C., at the time of his death. Andre had three brothers, Marcus, Christian and John and three sisters, Monique, Racquella and Ronda.
The story continues for a few paragraphs that are excluded from this unedited draft for concision.
Christian and Natasha say the FBI report listed some people that the sheriff’s department supposedly interviewed in 1989. One of them was Wendi Newman, who was a classmate of Andre’s and lived in the Clearview neighborhood. Today, Newman tells a different story. “It says in there that the detectives interviewed us as children, and so far everybody I know of that is listed in there — myself included — did not speak with any police officers,” Newman says.
More inconsistencies cloud the investigation. There are discrepancies over who found Andre’s body. There are discrepancies over his body’s position when he was found and whether the tree limb would have been sturdy enough to support his 175 pounds.
This detail presents the same issue as the earlier paragraph did of providing unnecessarily specificities that could provide a roadmap for copycats. I argued the weight of the child is not necessary for telling readers that the detectives’ story isn’t plausible and it could simply read “his weight.”
Edited copy
“Please, please, please,” Christian Lewis, 11, begs his 14-year-old brother, Andre Roland. It’s March 24, 1989, and Christian wants to play basketball down the street. “No,” Andre says repeatedly. The two are scheduled to play a basketball game later that day at their church, Progressive Baptist.
His brother’s response doesn’t stop Christian; he continues pleading. Andre finally gives in, even though he knows they aren’t supposed to leave before their mother gets home from work. By that time, Christian has to use the bathroom, so he tells Andre he will meet him there.
About five minutes later, around 3:30 or 4 p.m., Christian strolls to the basketball goal. He notices the neighborhood is silent.
When Christian arrives, Andre is nowhere to be seen. Christian shouts his name. Pause. He shouts again. And again. There is no reply. Just silence.
At 5:30 p.m., a Clearview subdivision neighbor finds Andre hanging by his belt from a small, low tree branch near 472 E. Hackberry Blvd., only a few hundred feet from the basketball hoop where the brothers were supposed to meet up. There are no marks on his body to indicate foul play and no signs of a struggle, according to authorities at the time. Local police rule his death a suicide almost immediately.
Continuing to searCHIt has been 35 years, and questions remain. What happened? Where did Andre go in those five minutes? What would have happened if the brothers had walked to the hoop together? Some of these questions might have been answered with a thorough investigation. But many family and community members say that didn’t happen.
For the past seven years, Christian and his wife, Natasha Lewis, have been investigating Andre’s case on their own. They are the only two still searching for answers. “I believe everybody deserves enough respect in life that if anything happens to any of us, I think as far as law enforcement goes for the investigation, I think that we should always do our due diligence and really figure out what happened or what could have happened,” Christian says.
The Boone County sheriff at the time, Ted Boehm, told media outlets that Andre’s death was a suicide. There was uncertainty around the finding almost immediately. No suicide note was ever found. Bill McNear, captain of the Boone County Sheriff’s Department, said he had no idea how Andre hanged himself from the tree, according to a 1989 Columbia Daily Tribune article.
Andre was in seventh grade at Jefferson Junior High when he died. He sang in the Progressive Baptist Church choir, participated in intramural basketball and played on a Columbia Parks and Recreation football team. He was close with Norma Roland, his mother, who died in 2003. His father, Charles Roland, lived in Washington, D.C., at the time of his death. Andre had three brothers, Marcus, Christian and John and three sisters, Monique, Racquella and Ronda.
The same paragraphs omitted in the unedited are omitted from the published copy for consistency.
Christian and Natasha say the FBI report listed some people that the sheriff’s department supposedly interviewed in 1989. One of them was Wendi Newman, who was a classmate of Andre’s and lived in the Clearview neighborhood. Today, Newman tells a different story. “It says in there that the detectives interviewed us as children, and so far everybody I know of that is listed in there — myself included — did not speak with any police officers,” Newman says.
More inconsistencies cloud the investigation. There are discrepancies over who found Andre’s body. There are discrepancies over his body’s position when he was found and whether the tree limb would have been sturdy enough to support his weight.
His brother’s response doesn’t stop Christian; he continues pleading. Andre finally gives in, even though he knows they aren’t supposed to leave before their mother gets home from work. By that time, Christian has to use the bathroom, so he tells Andre he will meet him there.
About five minutes later, around 3:30 or 4 p.m., Christian strolls to the basketball goal. He notices the neighborhood is silent.
When Christian arrives, Andre is nowhere to be seen. Christian shouts his name. Pause. He shouts again. And again. There is no reply. Just silence.
At 5:30 p.m., a Clearview subdivision neighbor finds Andre hanging by his belt from a small, low tree branch near 472 E. Hackberry Blvd., only a few hundred feet from the basketball hoop where the brothers were supposed to meet up. There are no marks on his body to indicate foul play and no signs of a struggle, according to authorities at the time. Local police rule his death a suicide almost immediately.
Continuing to searCHIt has been 35 years, and questions remain. What happened? Where did Andre go in those five minutes? What would have happened if the brothers had walked to the hoop together? Some of these questions might have been answered with a thorough investigation. But many family and community members say that didn’t happen.
For the past seven years, Christian and his wife, Natasha Lewis, have been investigating Andre’s case on their own. They are the only two still searching for answers. “I believe everybody deserves enough respect in life that if anything happens to any of us, I think as far as law enforcement goes for the investigation, I think that we should always do our due diligence and really figure out what happened or what could have happened,” Christian says.
The Boone County sheriff at the time, Ted Boehm, told media outlets that Andre’s death was a suicide. There was uncertainty around the finding almost immediately. No suicide note was ever found. Bill McNear, captain of the Boone County Sheriff’s Department, said he had no idea how Andre hanged himself from the tree, according to a 1989 Columbia Daily Tribune article.
Andre was in seventh grade at Jefferson Junior High when he died. He sang in the Progressive Baptist Church choir, participated in intramural basketball and played on a Columbia Parks and Recreation football team. He was close with Norma Roland, his mother, who died in 2003. His father, Charles Roland, lived in Washington, D.C., at the time of his death. Andre had three brothers, Marcus, Christian and John and three sisters, Monique, Racquella and Ronda.
The same paragraphs omitted in the unedited are omitted from the published copy for consistency.
Christian and Natasha say the FBI report listed some people that the sheriff’s department supposedly interviewed in 1989. One of them was Wendi Newman, who was a classmate of Andre’s and lived in the Clearview neighborhood. Today, Newman tells a different story. “It says in there that the detectives interviewed us as children, and so far everybody I know of that is listed in there — myself included — did not speak with any police officers,” Newman says.
More inconsistencies cloud the investigation. There are discrepancies over who found Andre’s body. There are discrepancies over his body’s position when he was found and whether the tree limb would have been sturdy enough to support his weight.