Try On Their Shoes Before Criticizing From Behind Your Keyboard
Being a journalist is often not easy, but those shouting from behind the anonymity afforded by a keyboard may not remember or even be aware of that.
From the first day I worked for the newspaper, I instinctively knew it would be a bad idea to read the Facebook comments, so I usually didn’t, until prompted by morbid curiosity or in search of a sort of grim entertainment to alleviate monotony. Even then, I knew better than to place much merit in most of them.
There are a lot of ignorant people online, and the more ignorant they are, the louder they shout. It doesn’t matter whether there’s truth in what they say; they’ll say it anyway.
When I quit in October, part of the relief came from knowing that those comments wouldn’t be directed at me any longer. It can become very hard to do the job — let alone find it purposeful and fulfilling or even remotely enjoyable — when all people want to do is attack you for it. It becomes even harder when people attack you by name, and even more so when they hurl insults at you in person when all you’re trying to do is the job.
Initially, I wanted to write this essay in response to an editorial which discussed how it’s okay for people — especially those hiding behind keyboards — to not say anything if what they have to say does not meaningfully contribute to the conversation.
I wholeheartedly agree. For exactly that reason I’ve often refrained from posting comments that I think of, because what would be the point? What good would it do? But what I want to say now, I’ve thought about for a long time, and it’s less in response to the editorial and more toward those who bitch online about the paper and its content, and the reporters and editors who work so hard to put out that content.
Specifically, I’d like to invite every single one of those people to stop hiding behind keyboards and do the work to put out a better paper if that’s what they’re so upset about.
Because I’ve been there, and I’ve done it, and let me tell you — it can be really fucking difficult. Some days, it actually feels dangerous.
On every social media profile, my bio is a quote from Netflix’s You:
So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when somebody angry with an article I wrote took that and twisted it. But it did come as a surprise — actually, it shook me.
These are the facts: her nephew was convicted of murder last summer in a jury trial. Then, allegations of impropriety in the county district clerk’s jury selection process came to light, prompting an investigation into the matter by the Texas Rangers at the request of the county’s district attorney.
Consequently, the nephew’s legal team filed a motion requesting a new trial, and the judge granted a hearing for the motion, which I covered for the newspaper. Certainly not because I wanted to be there or had any reason to care about the outcome, but simply because I had a job to do.
The judge hadn’t made a decision when my article was published, and it stated as much. I tried to be as objective as possible. But you know what they say about shooting the messenger, and while it doesn’t surprise me in hindsight, I was definitely shaken when the aunt posted a screenshot of my Facebook profile to her own page, writing, “…I was forwarded this screenshot of the [newspaper] Employee who certainly honors her code to commit genocide with the stroke a her pen…CLEARLY THE [newspaper] SUPPORTS THIS IDEOLOGY…” (All capitals and typos are hers.)
To be frank, her entire statement is ludicrous. I do not, never have and never will condone or commit genocide, and the same goes for the paper. It was simply reporting; I was just doing my job.
She included Google’s definition for genocide: “the deliberate killing of a large number of people from a particular nation or ethnic group with the aim of destroying that nation or group.”
That I am white and she and her family members, including her nephew, are Black is another fact, and if his race was mentioned in the article it was simply because that’s pretty standard when it comes to crime coverage. If he was white, it would’ve made no difference; the color of his skin had no bearing on my coverage of the hearing.
After I saw her post, I spent more than an hour blocking all of them on Facebook and setting all of my social media profiles to as private as possible, out of fear that they could do more than just shout from behind a keyboard. It didn’t matter to me then that anything beyond disparaging comments from a keyboard warrior didn’t seem likely; the point is I was afraid for myself and my family.
I wish that was the worst of it, but for me, the worst of it actually came first.
In covering the potential scandal that came out of the district clerk’s office, I had to attend a press conference hosted by a group of out-of-town activists, attended by other media outlets including a free agent known locally through his Facebook and YouTube channel.
His method of journalism generally involves filming commentary videos, including the one of that press conference which ended with hurling attacks at my back as I walked away after the conference was over: “See this lady in red? She arrived late and now she’s leaving early!” (Not true.)
“The paper will never tell you the truth! This won’t even be a byline on tomorrow’s front page!” (It was a front-page article; that’s not even what a byline is; and if I’d written one word of untruth in that story it never would’ve made it to print.)
I forced myself to walk calmly to my car even as I wanted to run. As soon as I climbed into it, I locked the doors and began to cry, shaken, because it’s a lot harder to ignore comments like that when people are shouting them in person.
I continued to do my job day after day as people refused to speak with me, were vocal about not wanting me there because of who I worked for, threatened me with lawsuits, and harassed me online and in person.
It never really got easier.
I will be the first person to acknowledge that many other people absolutely could do a better job of reporting, writing and editing than I ever did. Some people are just born journalists, and while I was good at my job, I am not one of those people.
But for those who don’t seem to have much better to do than criticize from the safe anonymity of a keyboard those who are only trying to do their jobs as well as they can — please, go ahead and do a better job of it. Be my guest.
Or please just try to put yourself in their shoes. Chances are, you wouldn’t want to walk very far at all.
