When it comes to rape, can journalists act professionally and a personally? Where does the humanity of the individual raped come in during the coverage process? How do we tell the story of rape truthfully, compassionately, humanely? The Poynter Report explores those questions and more.

An Introduction to the Essays
By Kelly McBride

The Poynter Report

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I get vibes from around the table whenever I talk about rape.

I feel them. Pangs of anxiety and tension. They come at me in different degrees of intensity.

They remind me that many people have had an experience with rape. Those experiences make the conversation much harder to have. People feel a physical aversion when it comes to talking about rape, even among journalists.

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Focusing on the Full Picture
By Kelly McBride

I can’t tell whether Chris Stark is laughing or crying. I think David Newson is doing both. Sharon Franck’s eyes are fixed on an object somewhere between here and there. And Josephine Frescas Salinas’ face is fixed between a sigh and a smile.

Rape survivors, all of them. They are not what I expect. They are not turning in on themselves. They are not cowering, hiding or somehow trying to disappear from a world in which they are scorned.

The reason I am surprised is because my knowledge of rape victims extends only as far as journalism will take it. In the world of television news, daily papers and public radio, rape victims are limited to a cliché. They stare blankly into the camera lens. They weep a lot. They have relationship issues. Their lives are ruined.

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Understanding the Story of Rape
By Thomas Huang

I am listening to Heather. She is a college student. She has this story to tell: A family friend raped her when she was 6. Soon after, the man introduced her to another friend, who raped her.

When Heather’s father discovered what had happened, he proceeded to do something unthinkable: He, too, raped her. He continued to sexually abuse her for several years, and it was their secret, until finally she told a friend, and her father went to prison.

This past spring, Heather was raped yet again. This time by a stranger, after a party.

I am listening to her as she talks to journalists at The Poynter Institute. I am trying to listen to her. But, for a moment, I find myself judging her.

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Crossing the Line
By Nobuku Oyabu

I may be naive. I wonder: Is it my problem that I am idealistic about journalism? As a photojournalist, I believe my job is to give readers a better understanding of news events with pictures. But I also believe my goal is to offer the public something more than pictures.

That idea was shattered at the newspaper where I used to work. I suggested to an editor that the paper do a story about a documentary film on violence against women. The film was about four women: one white, one black, one Latino, and me, an Asian.

I revealed I am a rape survivor.

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