What I learned from Feephee LaRoulxe
Three buildings collapsed in the quake. One, a public housing project, resulted in 40 deaths.
That was how I said it in my article for the on-the-spot newswriting workshop today. Our assignment was to “cover” a major earthquake that had killed hundreds and injured thousands, and we were supposed to get the story by running around between counselors and teachers – or victims, experts and officials, if you prefer – and asking the right questions.
Part of the disaster? A broken water main soaked the soil and caused a couple buildings to collapse.
I learned that from Mel, who was playing a distraught victim in a Red Cross camp. While I tried to interview her, she was “sobbing” uncontrollably, wailing about how no one would help her, and how she needed to find her son, who’d been separated from her when the building collapsed. She was begging me to help her, asking me to stay with her.
It was a ridiculous situation, I knew even then. I mean, she was sitting on the steps in the middle of Cal Poly, an eighteen year old girl, with these shrill, banshee wails … And the pseudonym she gave me was Feephee LaRoulxe, for heaven’s sake. But when I stood there and listened to her, it was hard to be an objective observer, to push for the facts. I couldn’t talk to her the way I talked to the other interview subjects. Insane as I knew the whole thing was, I wanted to help her.
I left “Feephee,” finished my interviews, and set out to write the story. When everything was finished, I read the story over and looked at that line. I thought about how distraught Mel had been, and how horrible the situation would be, had it been real. It made me think – how much can facts tell you?
In the whole rush of the “disaster,” Mel and her story got lost in a wave of facts and figures. Anything I could have said about her – and I said very little, never mentioning her “name,” her son, or anything of her experience besides the collapsed housing project – wouldn’t have been enough to cover the seriousness of the experience, and the life-changing impact it (would have) had on her.
It seems that, as journalists, we have a responsibility to do more than just give information. We should use language to create a sense of the event, to show its magnitude even when all we have is thirty minutes and a prayer. We need to give the facts, but also find a way to use language so that giving facts means giving truth – all of it.
If I learn to do that, here or anywhere, I’ll be happy.
Well said, you are on your way to making your readers care and making a difference.
That was a great post, Carlee. Don’t lose sight of those sentiments.