Christopher Hanson

Chameleon Man Meets Ticking Time Bomb

The police arrest a suspect in a shocking crime. He turns out to be middle class, with a legitimate job and without a criminal record. He�s a source of instant fascination, so reporters rush to pump his friends and associates for revealing anecdotes.

The results are usually eerie and engrossing, as readers expect, but they often reveal more about the way news is manufactured than about the alleged perpetrators themselves.

Reporters instantly label many of these suspects Human Chameleons. Their neighbors, friends, and co-workers are inevitably �baffled,� �surprised� or �stunned,� and say they have seen nothing at all to suggest a violent side. The New York Times, for instance, recently reported that a man sought in a criminal rampage had shown �no signs of anger� and was regarded as �bright . . . with varied interests [and] always did well in school. People said they were stunned.� (May 8, 2002). The subject was Luke Helder, the college student charged with planting eighteen bombs in rural mailboxes, terrorizing folks from Waukegan to Waco. An art major, Helder reportedly chose the locations of his blasts so they would create a giant �smiley face� on a map of the United States.

In the second, contrasting formula, the subject does display warning signs. The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, for example, informed readers that one particular suspect had exhibited mounting anger and distress � a growing �dark side� � in the months before his heinous acts. He began raging against the government after a minor drug arrest and �became obsessed with death.� The antithesis of the Chameleon, he was a Human Time Bomb, and an audibly ticking one at that.

By the way, he�s the same Luke Helder The New York Times had cast as an apparently normal guy just twenty-four hours before.

Nonjournalists consider it perplexing when one version of news reality collides so jarringly with another. But anyone who has covered a story on deadline knows such consistency is not the first thing on one�s mind.

Chameleon Man is most likely to make his appearance on Day One of the suspect�s apprehension, when there is little time to probe. Neighbors conditioned by years of news cliché recite the ritual incantations on cue: �He was polite and kept to himself,� �he helped me carry in the groceries. I guess he just snapped.� Neighbors initially described the mass murderer John Wayne Gacy as a jovial guy who appeared as a clown at children�s birthday parties. The reporters can reinforce the theme of surprise with descriptions of the suspect�s apparently peaceful environs � �tree-shaded streets with well-manicured lawns,� etc.

But afterward, reporters often find clues that the alleged perpetrator might have been displaying danger signs after all. Not to worry. They need only shop for new quotations: �He looked lost . . . ,� add fresh supporting material, and � zap! � yesterday�s Chameleon is today�s Ticking Bomb: young suspect grew to defy conformity (Denver Post, May 8) . . . acquaintances say they noticed a turn for the worse in helder (Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, May 9) . . . friends: mailbox bomb suspect changed (AP, May 10).

Once this second theme is established, previously ambiguous data instantly snap into focus as overlooked danger signs. The Washington Post, for example, recently noted that a man charged with leaving his daughter to die in a baking van had �a lawn with bald spots� and �peeling paint around the front door.� Helder�s flagging spring attendance record became a telltale sign. If someone starts blowing off classes, before you know it he could be blowing off limbs. The Washington Post opted for an audacious hybrid of the two standard takes. Its profile begins as classic Chameleon (bombing suspect�s friends are baffled, May 9). We quickly learn Helder was quiet and reserved (�He kept to himself�) but �nice.� �Nothing in their experience suggested that he was violent.� Then, suddenly, Helder is a Ticking Time Bomb, obsessed with the grunge rocker Kurt Cobain, who blew his head off with a shotgun. A friend was convinced Helder would go out the same way and saw death as merely �the way to the next step.� Tick-Tock.

As if testing how many contradictions can be packed into one article, the Post informs us that Helder �sought out people for impromptu jam sessions, asked friends to go with him to concerts, and played his electric guitar as loudly and as often as he could.� In other words, Helder was quiet but loud, reclusive but gregarious. He gave no indication of incipient violence but the signs were as big as billboards.

This was no �on the one hand, on the other hand� piece: it was emphatic in opposite directions at once. And it was not an isolated case.

The Post recently ran a feature about two brothers, twelve and thirteen, who faced trial for beating their father to death with a baseball bat. Headlined a father�s murder baffles fla. town, it declares: �The strangeness of this case baffles even those close to the boys and their father. Why would children of above-average intelligence, neither suffering from obvious deprivation, resort to such violence?� (May 4, 2000).

But in paragraph fourteen, we abruptly discover that the father put his boys in foster homes and that their nightclub singer mother abandoned them. In addition, a male friend of the father has been accused of raping the boys. Tick-tocks? These are more like booms from Big Ben.

This sort of self-contradictory, pushmepullyou reporting has its appeal. Journalists can terrify readers with the notion that violence lurks unseen in the �safest� places, and then immediately reassure them that crypto-maniacs can in fact be detected with vigilance.

More accurate and logical profiling requires restraint: leave the usual labels and formulas in template until you have enough facts to thoroughly fill in the blanks.

Some news outlets did take this cautious approach to Helder (e.g., pipe-bomb suspect is puzzle, USA Today, May 9, 2002), and they managed to combine accuracy with intrigue. After all, everyone loves a mystery in serial form � especially one that eventually gets solved.

Christopher Hanson, a newspaper reporter for twenty years, teaches journalism at the University of Maryland. He is a CJR contributing editor.

From Tailhook To Newshook

The legendary Ernie Pyle wouldn�t recognize a lot of things about the contemporary U.S. military, but the biggest shock might well be broads suited up for battle, as he probably would have put it back in World War II.

In the decade between the gulf war and the current campaign against terrorism, women in the U.S. military have commanded warships and air squadrons, piloted fighters and bombers. They have meted out death and died themselves alongside male colleagues in the present Central Asia conflict. It�s not your father�s (or grandfather�s) battlefield anymore, but that transformation is no longer attracting much attention from the present-day Pyles out there dodging bullets.

In fact, the woman in uniform who captured the most news coverage recently was not even fighting in Afghanistan. She was fighting instead in the theater of public opinion � against an American military policy she deemed discriminatory. Her allies were U.S. news organizations, starting with USA Today.

In an April 2001 front-page interview with that paper, Lt. Col. Martha McSally, the Air Force�s highest-ranking female fighter pilot, accused the Pentagon of a unique form of gender bias against U.S. military women in Saudi Arabia. When off the base, they were required to wear Muslim religious robes and headscarves, known in Saudi Arabia as abayas. U.S. military women, many of them pilots like McSally, were also barred from getting behind the wheel of a car. With her public contention that the Pentagon�s regulations infringed on servicewomen�s rights to equal treatment and religious freedom, the thirty-six-year-old aviator raised a media stir that has continued off and on for the past year.

McSally is the latest in a decade-long khaki line of military women who have sought news coverage as a means of blowing the whistle on gender discrimination in the services. Her case is G-rated compared to some, including the incident that started it all: the infamous 1991 Tailhook convention, in which male aviators assaulted dozens of female colleagues at a Las Vegas gathering of military pilots.

Since the end of the draft in 1973, when the services were only about one percent female, the Pentagon has relied increasingly on women � now about 15 percent of the forces � to fill its personnel needs. As more women have entered the services, demands for equal opportunity have increased.

And through their coverage of outspoken military women, the news media have played a direct and active � if in some cases unintentional � role in this struggle. Ironically, it has proven exceedingly difficult for news outlets to portray women in military service fairly, without distortion, even as journalists expose sexism and discrimination in the ranks.

One likely reason for the difficulty is that many Americans still find the concept of a woman warrior disconcerting, even menacing. The woman making war shatters quintessential categories of gender and family, most fundamentally the notion that men fight and women nurture. There is no ready category in our culture for the woman as professional combat soldier; hence journalists, like many others, struggle to fit the military woman into some familiar and comfortable niche.

What often happens then, according to the sociologist Melissa Herbert, is that military women are reduced to one of two derogatory labels. They are either threatening, super-macho "Amazons," whose femininity or sexual orientations are in doubt, or they are frail, unreliable "Butterflies," whose military competence is open to question. It all makes Yossarian�s Catch-22 seem like a simple proposition.

In covering female whistle-blowers in the military, news media have frequently reached for the handy "Butterfly" stereotype: the military woman as Damsel in Distress, requiring protection. This tendency has caused not only problems of fairness and accuracy in reporting but serious, practical difficulties for the women who enter a partnership with journalists to expose discrimination. That partnership has become well established over the past decade.

-- First to go to the press was Lt. Paula Coughlin. In June 1992 � exactly ten years ago � she told ABC PrimeTime Live, World News Tonight with Peter Jennings, and The Washington Post that the Navy had failed to investigate vigorously the 1991 Tailhook convention, where she was among those assaulted by male pilots. The Tailhook story had been fairly abstract because no flesh-and-blood victim had come forward to the national media until Coughlin, who described in detail how she was pawed and attacked. She put a human face on the scandal and turned it into a blockbuster story that shook the Navy. In the two-month period before she came forward, there were 176 stories on Tailhook in the Nexis news archive; in the two-month period after she went public, the number shot up to 995.

-- Lt. Carey Lohrenz appeared on Dateline NBC in 1996 and embarrassed the Navy by alleging she had been forced out of her position as a carrier fighter pilot because of gender discrimination. Her media exposure contributed to bitter debates in Congress and the Navy over the fair treatment of female aviators.

-- Air Force Lt. Kelly Flinn, the first female B-52 bomber pilot, used 60 Minutes as a forum to complain that she was being singled out for severe punishment on an adultery charge because she was a woman. That and other news outlets, including The New York Times and The Washington Post, helped make her case that when male officers dallied, the brass usually looked the other way. The publicity derailed the appointment of Gen. Joseph Ralston as chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff after the Post got a leak that he, too, had had an adulterous affair.

-- With help from a media adviser, retired Sergeant Major Brenda Hoster convinced The New York Times to air her complaint that the Army�s top NCO had assaulted and sexually harassed her. Sergeant Major of the Army Gene McKinney was in line to join an Army panel aimed at curbing sexual harassment. The lengthy front-page Times story on February 4, 1997, magnified by a Sam Donaldson PrimeTime Live version, turned Hoster�s accusations into a huge national story. Several women in uniform came forward with similar allegations against McKinney, adding firepower to Hoster�s allegations.

The symbiotic relationship between news media and the whistle-blowers has repeatedly yielded coverage that forced the military�s hand. The resulting policies have generally been female-friendly, beginning with a jumpstart of the stalled Tailhook investigation. A number of senior naval officers were demoted or took early retirement for not rooting out Tailhook abusers with sufficient vigor. Five years later, Hoster�s allegations led to a public and well-covered court martial. McKinney was cleared on eighteen counts of sexual misconduct but he was demoted and forced into retirement as a result of the trial.

Most recently, Lt. Col. McSally�s complaint unleashed a barrage of coverage, including a 60 Minutes segment and dozens of newspaper articles, and shared headlines with the Afghanistan campaign. McSally thus forced the Pentagon to confront a paradox it had wanted to fudge: How could the United States take credit for liberating Afghanistan�s Muslim women from the burqa while forcing similar garb on American women to appease our Saudi allies? The answer was simple: it couldn�t. In January, the Pentagon announced that it was rescinding the abaya orders.

For all the real gains that have resulted from the partnership between the press and military women, this progress has come at a high personal cost to those who spoke out. Coughlin, McKinney�s accusers, McSally, and others came forward so that they and other women in uniform could be fully accepted in the military. But in the military mindset the very act of going to the press left them open to being pilloried as unreliable "Butterflies" who could not take care of themselves. Coughlin was ostracized and got hate mail from Navy men, who regarded her as a weak, undependable officer. She eventually resigned her commission in disgust. Several of the active-duty women who testified against McKinney said they would leave the service shortly thereafter, having been attacked as unfit soldiers by McKinney�s defenders in and out of court.

After McSally sought a helping hand from the media, even her service evaluations took a nosedive. She was accused of disloyalty and being unprofessional by her commanding officers. In a 60 Minutes interview, she acknowledged that her future in the Air Force was unclear.

These whistle-blower stories posed difficulties of a different sort for the journalists who presented them.

On the surface, many press accounts of female whistle-blowers being discriminated against or ostracized are quite sympathetic to the women. Upon closer analysis, however, many of these same accounts reinforce the very stereotypes the women were fighting against � especially the "Butterfly" notion of military woman as victim. Obviously, the victim label is especially damaging to a member of the armed forces. How can an officer help defend the nation if she cannot even manage to take care of herself? And yet this image of frailty has been a hallmark of reports on military women.

This has been especially true on television prime-time magazine shows, where one might have expected coverage with greater depth and subtlety than typical brief evening news stories. As the media scholar Richard Campbell has pointed out, the TV magazine formula calls for the reporter to intervene on behalf of the story�s imperiled protagonist. Indeed, the reporter comes across like TV�s The Equalizer, a gallant man who uses his superior strength to protect a woman.

In this mode, Sam Donaldson stood up for Coughlin, Morley Safer for Flinn, and so on. Unfortunately, the Equalizer formula is a fount of sexist cliché. The reporters in these segments, generally men, are the chief actors. They investigate and protect. The women are Paulines in Peril, prey to all manner of malevolent forces, although many journalists, both women and men, who have covered the military would say that the typical woman in uniform is quite capable of taking care of herself.

The power of the victim theme has also led journalists to blur key distinctions between cases. Some women have approached the press to expose wrongs, help their sisters in arms and seek justice, even at the expense of their careers or reputations. Coughlin, Hoster, and McSally are all members of that select group. On the other hand, there are those who have used the media primarily to advance their self-interest -- Flinn, who wanted to avoid court-martial and keep flying B-52s, and Lohrenz, who was pressing for reinstatement as a carrier pilot.

Yet despite these crucial differences, the coverage has tended to lump the women together as victims of bullying males. In one 1992 ABC segment, Coughlin, in her dress whites, was identified with the label, "Victim of Sexual Abuse," which pretty much sums up what this courageous whistle-blower was reduced to in most other reports as well.

Flinn was similarly portrayed as a victim of a sexist military, despite her acknowledgement that she had disobeyed orders by continuing her relationship with a married man. In a 1997 60 Minutes segment, for instance, Morley Safer as Equalizer declared incredulously, "It�s hard to believe that someone of her abilities and her character could go to jail." In a face-to-face with Flinn, Safer backhandedly played up her vulnerability.

Safer: You�re a tough woman, yes?

Flinn (in uniform, weeping): Yes.

Safer: You could deal with that [prison]?

Flinn: (voice breaking): I would deal with it . . . . It�s not something I really look forward (voice breaks) to facing. . .

Here was the very picture of feminine frailty in uniform, the Victim incarnate. Why wasn�t Coughlin labeled more positively as a "Fighter Against Sexual Abuse"? Why wasn�t Flinn labeled a "Bomber Pilot Accused of Insubordination and Sexual Misconduct"? Perhaps because "woman as victim" is such a powerful archetype. So powerful, evidently, that it has prevented journalists -- many of whom are quite ignorant of military culture to start with -- from making the key distinction between the fighter for justice and the delinquent officer fighting for her own skin.

The risk of distortion is considerable not only because of the archetypes that seem to exert a magnetic force on journalists, but also because these whistle-blower exposés tend to draw far more news play than accounts of progress toward gender equality. The exposés have all the alluring elements of tabloid journalism -- sex, violence, depravity, and the inevitable fascination with anything that freakishly defies traditional boundaries and expectations -- from cloned sheep to mothers who drown their children. The woman warrior falls into this "transnormal" category, even as journalists struggle to cast her as something less sensational.

Success stories and trend pieces outlining gradual improvement simply cannot compete. One such success story, Rosemary Mariner, the Navy�s first female squadron commander and a frequent spokesperson for the Navy, was mentioned in 102 news items in the Nexis archive between 1978 and 1998. Another figure deemed a pioneer by the media, Lt. Gen. Claudia Kennedy, once the highest-ranking female ever in the Army, was mentioned 158 times. (This was before Kennedy filed her own sexual harassment complaint against a fellow general. She did not go to the press, but a leak launched her news profile into the stratosphere in March 2000.)

In striking contrast, Tailhook whistle-blower Coughlin was mentioned over 700 times, McKinney accuser Hoster some 900 times, and Kelly Flinn nearly 3,000 times. It�s impossible not to question whether the coverage has painted a distorted picture of women in uniform when the errant and weepy bomber pilot Kelly Flinn makes by far the biggest media splash of the decade.

The public was clearly learning much more about the harassed, victimized, or fragile military woman than about the strong achiever or routine careerist. And this despite indications that military sexual harassment is actually on the decline. As USA Today recently reported, the number of harassment complaints was down to 319 in 2000 from 1,599 in 1993. The Pentagon attributes the trend to sensitivity training and growing acceptance of servicewomen.

This growing acceptance has been evident in air combat. American women have flown combat missions over Iraqi "no fly zones," over Kosovo, and in the current Afghanistan campaign. What reporters once covered as a novelty, they are now treating as routine. When the Navy gave reporters access to combat pilots, including a female code-named "Mumbles," some U.S. news organizations mentioned her only in passing. In two articles, The San Diego Union-Tribune did not even identify her as female.

But when combined with the high-profile attention paid McSally, the routine coverage of women on the firing line raises old concerns about distortion. The McSally case was on the air and in the press dozens of times during the early phases of the Afghanistan conflict. From the coverage, it was easier to learn more about one example of gender discrimination than about gender equality in action as the country went to war.

As America faces a long battle against terrorism, how can news media illuminate women�s growing role in the military without distortions and stereotyping?

First, reporters need to recognize that not all military women who go public are created equal. Kelly Flinn, eager to avoid what may be an excessive penalty for a known infraction, was no Paula Coughlin. In covering them both as "Damsels in Distress," journalists miss a crucial element of their stories and distort what�s left.

Another part of the solution would be to complement coverage of exposés on gender discrimination with pieces explaining how far women have come in the military. Some print journalists have provided such context.

The TV magazine programs, unfortunately, are not about context. They are about "real life" packaged as drama. Narrative, not nuance, is the key.

Given those limitations, it would be a step forward for TV magazines to switch formulas. Instead of casting female whistle-blowers as distressed damsels, why not cast the deserving ones as Al Pacino in Serpico or Audie Murphy in To Hell and Back? In other words, cast them as protagonists who stand on principle and will risk a great deal to right a wrong or protect a comrade. It would be closer to the mark than The Perils of Pauline.

Lesley Stahl flirted with just such a switch in formula in her January 20, 2002, segment on Lt. Col. McSally. Stressing the officer�s prowess in the air, physical toughness, and dedication to principle, Stahl raises the issue of why McSally was willing to risk her career over abayas and back seats when she had such a bright future ahead of her as a pilot with "the right stuff."

"I felt like I was in a unique position as the highest ranking female fighter pilot � kind of a warrior in the warrior�s world � to say this has got to go," McSally says. "It was more my obligation than any of the other gals [of lower rank]."

At the same time, unfortunately, Stahl assumes a kind of empathetic Big Sister role and goes to great lengths to get an emotional reaction from McSally. This is more in keeping with traditional TV magazine stereotyping: depict the woman as vulnerable. Stahl displays an abaya and asks McSally to don it. McSally refuses, looking hurt, and says with a slight quaver: "I hope I�ve worn it for the last time." So Stahl herself puts on the robe and headscarf and is soon covered in black. Only her eyes and nose are visible.

Stahl : You won�t even demonstrate it for us because you feel so strongly . . . . This is what you looked like? . . . Does it bother you watching me? . . . Your whole face has changed . . . . It�s emotional for you.

McSally (nodding sadly): Yeah.

Stahl plays up the pain and emotion, so that we see a scared, even rattled, Martha McSally, not the unflappable lieutenant colonel, in the most dramatic portion of her report. Still, given the context of a decade�s worth of coverage, Stahl provides a relatively sound model.

Another was Ernie Pyle, whose work was respected by the troops and public alike because he understood the hardships of the ordinary mud soldier and depicted him realistically, with few if any flag-waving stereotypes. Today�s military reporters would do well to follow Pyle�s example in depicting G.I. Jane, understanding her travails, portraying her as she is, resisting the constant pull of outmoded archetypes.

CJR contributing editor Christopher Hanson covered the military during much of his twenty years as a newsman. This article is based in part on his 1999 Ph.D. dissertation.

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