A Mother's Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy(52)
These communications made me sadder and sicker than the most castigating hate mail. If the tapes were made public, we would never be able to control who could see them. (Even writing about the timeline of the events at the school and describing the tapes, as I have done in this chapter, makes me nervous, and I would not have done so without getting an explicit go-ahead from people who study these issues.) We could not, in good conscience, release the tapes. Enough harm had been done.
This wasn’t mere superstition on our part. As the years went on, our fears that Dylan and Eric’s actions would provide inspiration to other disturbed kids were confirmed over and over again. Columbine-related materials were found among Virginia Tech shooter Seung-Hui Cho’s possessions, and in the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooter Adam Lanza’s belongings. An investigation by ABC News published in 2014 found “at least 17 attacks and another 36 alleged plots or serious threats against schools since the assault on Columbine High School that can be tied to the 1999 massacre.”
We know, without a doubt, that exposure to suicide or suicidal behavior can influence other vulnerable people to make an attempt. Over fifty studies worldwide have powerfully connected news coverage of suicides to an increased incidence of similar, or copycat, suicides. This effect is called “suicide contagion.” It’s also known as the Werther effect, a term coined by sociologist David Phillips in the 1970s. The name itself highlights how long we’ve known about the phenomenon: in the eighteenth century, a host of young men imitated the protagonist of Goethe’s novel The Sorrows of Young Werther, dying by suicide dressed as he did, in yellow pants and a blue jacket.
The media’s acknowledgment of the Werther effect has unquestionably saved lives. Perhaps you’ve noticed that suicide deaths, especially those of teenagers, are rarely reported in the news. That’s not accidental; it’s because media outlets are following guidelines endorsed by the Centers for Disease Control and the National Institute of Mental Health, both of which suggest that limiting and dampening coverage may save lives.
The guidelines recommend that media outlets avoid repetitive, glamorizing, or sensational coverage, and should not offer simplistic explanations for suicide. Methods should not be graphically discussed. Final notes should not be reprinted. Photographs of the location of the death, of memorial sites, and of grieving family members may be inflammatory, and should be avoided.
By agreeing to report on suicides not as if they were high-profile crimes, but as part of a massive public health problem, members of major media outlets have saved lives. The two areas of exception are death by suicide of a high-profile celebrity, and murder-suicide. Now, I’m not naive enough to believe I will ever see a world where there is no coverage surrounding the death of a well-known figure like Robin Williams, or of an event like the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School. As tragic as these events may be, they are also news stories. But there are many ways even these events can be covered more responsibly, and there is a strong argument for doing so. I believe, in particular, there is a compelling argument for changing the way we cover murder-suicide.
A growing body of research suggests that the rising number of mass shootings in the United States is inextricably linked—along with the easy availability of high-capacity guns, and a lack of knowledge about and support for brain health issues—to the way the media cover these events. And if such media coverage can either contain or instigate contagion, then I agree with media experts like Drs. Frank Ochberg and Zeynep Tufekci that it is imperative to institute a new set of guidelines for reporting on murder-suicide.
There is, of course, already a material difference between the way these events are covered by legitimate mainstream news organizations and what happens in the deepest, darkest corners of the Internet—or even on cable news, with twenty-four hours of programming to fill. Meg Moritz, a journalist and professor who has looked closely at the media coverage of Columbine, reminded me that the journalists in question are often making split-second decisions under less-than-optimal circumstances. Even so, it’s not unreasonable to expect legitimate news organizations to follow best-practice guidelines.
Many of these guidelines are “don’ts.” Don’t show images of the shooter, particularly ones of him with weapons, or in the outfit he chose to carry out the massacre. Don’t show the weapons used, or other evidence. Don’t endlessly repeat the name of the shooter; instead, refer to “the killer” or “the perpetrator.” Don’t give airtime or publish the videos they make (like the Basement Tapes) or manifestos posted to their social media accounts. Don’t compare the killer to other killers, particularly by putting emphasis on how many people they have killed. Tufekci believes that numbers—how many dead and injured, the number of bullets fired—and photographs are particularly inflammatory, as they provide a benchmark for competition. Don’t sensationalize the violence or the body count—“the most people killed and injured in the country’s history!” Don’t oversimplify the motivations behind the act.
Most important, don’t inadvertently make heroes out of the killers. It seems obvious, and yet when an event like this happens, you can’t avoid detailed (and, I would argue, fetishistic) descriptions of the weapons used, how the killers hid their arsenals, what they did and ate on the fateful day, exactly what they wore. Their names become household names. We know their favorite foods, video games, movies, and bands. These details may eventually emerge, of course; leaks happen, and the Internet is the Internet. But if these images and details accelerate and inspire violence, then they should not be endlessly repeated on CNN.