The Power of Words. Mark Patinkin: When 'just the facts' won't do

7/22/98
Mark Patinkin: When 'just the facts' won't do

       Recently Columnist Mark Patinkin found new insight into the concept of The Power of Words. He found it in a column published earlier this month in The Providence Journal, that was provoked by one of his previous columns.

Mark Patinkin: Column meant to praise,
caused pain
        This is a column about how I made a good young man look bad.
        His name is Terryl Desuze, and I'll start with who he is:
        He's 18, headed for college, has a summer job at Merrill Lynch, and wants to go into computer engineering.
        Ask who his role model is, and he'll point to his mother, Lydia, who came here with her husband from Panama and is proud of earning her way as a seamstress for bridal shops.
        "My mom's working when I go to sleep," says Terryl. "She's working when I wake up."
        Career goals? Terryl does not dream small. He plans to be the first black CEO of a big computer company.
        His mother taught him that way of thinking.
        "Here," Lydia says of America, "you can do what you dream of."
        An inspiring young man.
        Why would I make a young man like that look bad?
        I didn't think I did.
        I interviewed him two weeks ago for a story about the state's only charter school.
        I found him an inspiring young man who has achieved a lot. A good way to show this, I felt, was by stressing what he'd overcome.
        So, in the very first paragraph, I described him this way:
        "An inner-city fatherless black male who served time in juvenile prison."
        But now, I wrote, he's college-bound, working at an investment firm, and seen as a model student by the Textron-Chamber of Commerce Academy.
        People who read the story told me Terryl came off as symbol of success. That's what I intended.
        Then I got a phone message from Terryl himself.
        He sounded devastated. The column, he said, had embarrassed and demoralized him. It made him look like a criminal. Please call.
        I heard from his mom, too. Why, Lydia Desuze asked, did I say such bad things about her son? And about her?
        Could they have read the same story?
        They had, but saw the opposite image I'd intended, and the reason has to do with differences in race and class I'd never understood until now.
        People make untrue assumptions.
        Though miffed at their reaction, I drove down Atwells, through Olneyville, to meet with them at their second floor apartment. I was surprised at how finely it was furnished. Lydia picked up on that. People assume things about how others live, she said, and it's often untrue. That, she said, is what my article had done: Painted a picture of her family I assumed to be true, but wasn't.
        Like describing Terryl as "fatherless." Why would I use such a word?
        Because Terryl told me his dad had to move back to Panama 9 years ago due to citizenship problems.
        That doesn't make Terryl fatherless, Lydia said; especially since she's chosen to remain married.
        I asked if we weren't just arguing over word choice?
        Word choice, said Lydia, is exactly the problem: "Fatherless" is not neutral, it's loaded.
        "It's a word you'd use for a child who's never seen his father," she said. And a mother who never married.
        What I meant was that Terryl seldom gets to see his father.
        "You know that," said Terryl, "but the people reading it don't."
        Lydia took out some photos taken when the family was still together: Vacationing in Disneyland in 1986, on a cruise to Italy in 1988. Most were of Terryl together with his dad.
        "That's not a fatherless kid," Lydia said. "That's a family."
        She said she was also hurt by what the word implied about her.
        "Friends of mine," Lydia told me, "said it seemed like I was on welfare."
        Why would anyone think that?
        That, she said, is what "fatherless black male," is code for: An irresponsible mother on handouts.
        For 20 years, said Lydia, she has made her own way in America. That article implied she hadn't.
        "After I read this," she said, "I cried for three days."
        Then there was the other loaded phrase I used about Terryl in that first paragraph: "Served time in juvenile prison."
        Later in the story, I gave a brief explanation: "He was with some friends who assaulted a pizza delivery man; they ran when the police came, Terryl didn't."
        That's technically accurate, I said.
        The point, said Terryl, is the impression: It made him look like a career criminal who'd spent long stretches in prison.
        In fact, it was Thursday through Tuesday, and a judge ultimately said Terryl had been wrongly identified as the assailant. The assault happened at the door of someone's home while Terryl was in another room.
        I was still tempted to defend what I'd written as accurate, but too often, journalists hide behind that as an excuse: The facts are right. If you don't like the impression, don't blame us. Blame the facts.
        In some cases, that's legitimate; in others, it's not.
        Journalists often play up negative facts to make subjects look bad.
        In this case, ironically, I played up negative facts to make Terryl look good. That was my intention: To show what he'd overcome.
        But to many folks, it sure didn't come across that way.
        A different point of view.
        Still, a part of me didn't understand why Terryl and his mom were so upset.
        If someone did a story making me look like I came up the hard way, I wouldn't mind. Even if past "obstacles" were overplayed, a part of me would be proud to be labeled an "at risk" kid who beat the odds.
        Why did it bother Terryl?
        Because, he said, that's not the image you want if you're a young black man in America.
        Why not?
        As a male minority, he said, you fear you start with two strikes against you -- that any negative, even from the past, will be seen as a third, and hold you back.
        But isn't it all right if you're portrayed as overcoming those "negatives"?
        "It's hard for you to look at it from my point of view," he said. Often, he said, being black and male means going through life getting glances that say, "Here comes trouble." He's worked hard to overcome that label.
        Then out comes my article, putting it on him.
        "I don't want people to think of me as a tough character," he said. "I want them to be comfortable speaking to me. Reading that article -- 'He served time in juvenile prison' -- people probably fear me a little now."
        Did anyone say so where he works?
        No. People there congratulated him for overcoming so much.
        Then what's the problem?
        Because that implies he was a career criminal who turned around. That's not how it was; he was raised well by a good mom.
        But be honest, I told him: He did overcome many obstacles. He'd told me of how, in the past, he'd lacked challenge and mentors. He said he'd likely be aimless about his future today had he not enrolled in the Academy.
        Terryl agreed. Like every kid, he had problems. He had to overcome things. But it's degrading, said Terryl, to be considered a hero for that.
        Why degrading?
        "Because it's expected of minorities to get in trouble and not do well, so when they accomplish any little thing, it's like, 'Good for you.'"
        I asked why people have that image.
        "I think it has a lot to do with the media that portrays young inner-city kids as always getting into trouble."
        'Your name is everything.'
        I'd like to end this with something that Lydia Desuze said: "You know what hurt me most with the newspaper write-up? I always say to my son, 'Terryl, your name is the most important thing of your life, it's more important than money, more important than anything.' I always say, 'Terryl, your name is everything.'"
        I don't believe my first article hurt Terryl's name in all eyes.
        But it did in some eyes.
        Saying "I didn't mean to" won't change that.
        Let's hope this second article will.

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