Day 100

I found the media's coverage of Russell Williams' case very interesting. I think it is so important for people to think about what they are reading and form their own opinions instead of just simply believing everything that someone says. Even noting the way something is reported is important. After much discussion with my dad and grandad about the way different news outlets reported the Williams story, I decided to write my journalism media report on just that. I thought it would be interesting to post it as it generated a lot of thought as I was writing it.

"If you burn down my house, I don’t need to burn down yours”

Splashed on the front page of the Toronto Star on the morning of Tuesday, October 19th were two intriguing images: a man dressed in a pink bikini beside a photo of the same man dressed in military attire and saluting. At first glance the absurd contrast of the two could be considered comical but then we begin to read. Russell Williams held the high-ranking position of commanding officer at Canada’s most important air base. He has also pleaded guilty to murder. This article was only the start to a disturbing week of stories, the majority of which held detailed descriptions of the thousands of photos and video Williams had taken documenting his fetish that started as break and enters and escalated into the murders of two women.
The coverage of the Russell Williams case shocked saddened and deeply affected Canadians; many media outlets did not hold back on reporting the gruesome facts revealed in court.
Jim Rankin and Sandro Contenta’s Toronto Star article “A depraved double life”, CBC’s The Fifth Estate program “The Confession” and Christie Blatchford’s Globe and Mail article “Victims deserve delicacy, but should not rule our courtrooms” explore the sensationalism of the case, the psychological side of the story and the control victims should hold in a courtroom.
The analysis of the Williams’ story brings forth challenges because it is a case filled with horrifying material. Each media outlets’ coverage of the story questions where the balance should lie between feeding Canada’s fixation with humanity’s “evil” side, adequately informing citizens about what is happening in their country and being respectful to victims and their families.

“A depraved double life” focuses on cold facts about Williams’ fetishes and the murders of Comeau and Lloyd, reported from a sensationalist perspective. There is nothing in the article about Williams’ personal life; all we are told is that he was air force commander of CFB Trenton. This fact alone adds another sensationalist aspect to the story. The reporters were trying, and succeeded to create one very clear picture: Williams was a commanding officer and a murderer. Perhaps this is why there was nothing reported on his martial status, whether he had children, his educational background or his age.
The article begins with a report on Williams’ fetish break-ins where he tried on and stole women’s lingerie. The reporters were not cautious about the language they used to present the content which only escalates to specific, grotesque details: from the description of photos Williams took masturbating in the lingerie, the colour of the garments to poses he liked to model in front of the camera. The last half page of the article is dedicated to recounting specific gruesome details of the Comeau and Lloyd murders.
This article’s content is unfair to Williams’ victims and their families and challenges the level of respect and sensitivity that they are entitled to in a case as horrifying as this. Was it necessary to recount the murders of Marie-France Comeau and Jessica Lloyd in such detail? It seems that these facts were reported not to inform but to shock. Williams violated Comeau and Lloyd. It is not the media’s job to further exploit and humiliate them by presenting such graphic facts of their deaths to the public. Canadians do have a right to be informed about what is happening around them but this could have still been achieved in a respectful manner.

Unlike “A depraved double life”, Blatchford’s article is not about disclosing shocking facts from court. She instead takes on the perspective of the victims and expresses her opinion on the roles they should play in court trails.
She begins with the recount of a CTV interview with lawyer Tim Danson in which he stated that all the evidence of the Williams case should be “destroyed” to ensure that the victims are not “violated again”. Blatchford expresses that this should not happen because it would be disloyal to the open court principle. She argues that the victims and their relatives in the Williams’ case were greatly empowered; the audience clapped after the victim-impact statements which incorporated hateful comments towards Williams. The point of court trials, Blatchford states, is not to get justice for the victims and their families but to investigate and prosecute.
Blatchford is still respectful to the victims even though she is touching on a sensitive subject. Similar to the Toronto Star article, she comments on how Comeau did not stop fighting for her life. Her article does not state that the pain of the victims and their families is unwarranted but quite the opposite.
Blatchford’s article is presented fairly. She did not judge the trauma experienced by the victims and their families, nor does she defend Williams (which many undoubtedly felt she was doing). She instead offers a refreshing perspective of a case so fixated with the recount of gruesome details.

CBC’s The Fifth Estate program broadcasted “The Confession” on October 22nd, an hour long air of Williams’ interrogation tape in which he confesses to the Comeau and Lloyd murders.
The broadcast was set up similar to a newscast; footage was shown followed by a brief statement from Mark Mendelson and Paul Ciolino both esteemed interrogation investigators who analyzed Williams’ body language throughout the confession.
This coverage of the story takes on the perspective of the interrogating officer and the art of persuasion. The story is presented as a thriller, the music crescendoing as the confession grows in suspense. Unlike “A depraved double life”, the structure of the story focuses less on the gruesome details of the case and more on the physiological examination of Williams.
The broadcast of Williams’ confession can be compared to the argument Blatchford makes in her article. Was the airing of the confession going against the purpose of interrogation? These tapes are being broadcasted to fulfil human fascination. Of course those who have lapped up the gruesome details of the case in varying media outlets want to see Williams recite them himself. Was this broadcast used as a vehicle to inform or to feed the human fascination with “evil”?
During “The Confession” Ciolino directs a statement towards Williams from behind the scenes, “quit acting like a little girl” and states that the interrogator is “owning” and has “control” over Williams. This use of language suggests that “The Confession” is more about humiliating Williams than the analysis of human nature.

The analysis of the coverage presented by the above sources does not rule one approach as more successful. Picking the success of one source over the other is difficult because the goal of each media outlet is unclear. If it is being assumed that it was the Toronto Star’s goal to produce a sensationalist piece of news out of this story then they were the most successful. If it is being assumed that it was The Fifth Estate’s goal to produce a thrilling program out of this story then they were the most successful. What is evident however is that Blatchford’s coverage of the story was the fairest. There is no aspect of humiliation in her article or unnecessary details of the murders, evident in many media outlets’ coverage of this story.

The analysis of the above media outlets presents an unsettling conclusion. The majority of media outlets discussed above approached the story with little sensitivity. In an act to satisfy human’s fixation with the Mr. Hyde side of human nature, respect for victims and their families was sparse. The humiliation of Williams further led to the humiliation of all those affected by his actions. As Blatchford states, “if you burn down my house, I don’t need to burn down yours”; many of Canada’s media outlets need to consider this statement.

Day 97

The approach of my birthday always produces a mixture of internal feelings. Sometimes I feel really excited, other times I don't really care, sometimes I get nervous and on the rare occasion I feel sad that I am drifting farther away from those care-free days of childhood.

With my birthday three days away, I can't quite decide how I'm feeling. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that I have an essay due tomorrow, one on Wednesday and a test on my actual birthday this Thursday...yeah, that's probably it.

What I will say is how astounded I am that a year has passed by. I can remember my birthday last year very clearly-I was getting ready to jet off to England. And soon it will be Christmas and then spring, and then summer and then my birthday again. I'll be twenty. Now THAT is a scary thought.

Day 95, Part Two (Something I've been working on)

When my mother and her sisters gathered they did so in a circle. They would whisper amongst themselves, their words coming out of their mouths sharply, hitting their teeth and passing through their lips in a soft whistle. They gathered at an oak table, and its strong tall legs held the three of them snugly together, knee-to-knee. Its surface was decorated with a map of intricate scratches and grooves, perhaps frequently oiled by previous owners but rubbed raw in the years it had stood in our kitchen. My mother and her sisters were all round, with fat fingers and ankles that stuck out from the bottom of their pants like juicy plums. Their folds of skin seemed to seep together as they sat in their circle. I had always imagined it would feel safe and cozy in their unison of flesh, like climbing between giant marshmallows, soft and pudgy.

My mother and her sisters believed that everything-animals, inanimate objects, and people especially-all entered the world with stories. That oak table, for instance, apparently had wild, jubilous stories of its own. I just had to listen to it. Which was why my mother and her sisters gathered: to tell stories and to listen.

I had never been good at listening. I saw things instead. It started when I was twelve, picking up Bessie’s 35mm camera and clumsily looking through the little box, balancing its heavy body in my hand as I moved my torso, scanning the field behind our house. I was enthralled with the way everything fit neatly in the camera’s tiny square, how I was capable of making someone think that where I lived was actually beautiful by blocking out say, the rotting red barn and instead focusing on the sunflower patch or neat little vegetable garden. And so it began: my compulsion for capturing moments of mistaken beauty, or even real beauty if I was lucky enough to find it.

My mother and her sisters had trouble finding stories in the photos I took.
“Do you listen to the objects before you take their photo Dara?” Joan would inquire as they shuffled through the freshly developed prints, pausing to study each glossy one and then talk about it, their voices muffled.
“No, no, I don’t think you did,” Bessie always said. “For if you did, the story would be obvious. There is no vulnerability, happiness, sadness, anguish in these photos. That is what great photographers do. They tell the stories of people or animals or objects that can’t do it themselves. They emanate feelings.”

I didn’t know how to listen to inanimate objects. Or animals. And sometimes people’s stories were hard to understand as well; something that was meaningful to them could be completely bogus to me.

So I began looking for stories, or objects that had one to share. There was the barn, falling apart, windows smashed and paint peeling so that it dyed the earth red around it. One of the hinges had come off the door frame and it stood tilted, leaning against the earth, its anchor. The barn looked sad. I captured the windows, the falling apart door and the red earth surrounding it.

“It’s our abandoned barn,” my mother noted.
“Joan, what’s the story?” Bessie said, peering at the series of photos that now sat in front of them, the lamp above it reflecting off their glossy surfaces.
“It’s a barn. It was once taken care of. Now its not.”
“You didn’t listen to it,” they agreed in unison.
“You just captured what you saw. A forgotten barn.”

The photos were slid towards me by a set of pudgy hands.

After my grandfather died, what he could keep up of the farm in his old age slowly withered away. The flowers began to wilt, the huge field of sunflowers eventually died off after seasons of not being cared for, the vegetable garden (once thriving with every sort of salad additive) became a bed for just heads of lettuce. There was a picture of the barn when it stood straight that hung by the oak table. I guessed my mother and her sisters were about eight in the photo by the way their gangly elbows and knees stuck out at uneven angles, my grandfather standing behind them with his hands on Joan’s shoulders. The barn had been freshly painted traditional fire engine red, the white window frames glowing.

Now standing in front of the barn, it was hard to believe it used to look as it did in that photo. The cold winter months and neglect led it to sit and rot. My mother and her sisters had no shame.

***

Luck, Case of the Missing Roommate, Authors & Photography, Day 95

There have been three instances in my life where a story in the newspaper has profoundly impacted and stuck with me for many years. Colonial Russell Williams’ story is the fourth. I used to think that journalism was so different than creative writing. And yet it was still a shock to be told in my journalism class that I may NOT use any more flowery language, that I need to condense my sentences a VAST amount and to not put any EMOTION or PERSONAL BIAS into what I am writing. Well hey, why not tell me to just go against everything I have ever been taught in English? My professor actually did just that. At first I was scared of loosing my style or just not be able to write creatively ever again. So far this has not been the case and this condensing-sentences-no-personal-bias-no-emotion-lets-make-alexandra-fail has turned out to be much easier than I imagined.

As I become more familiar and in tune with the journalism practice, I am wondering if the two practices are actually as different as I first thought them to be. Of course, style is a big difference. But content? I have read books that have affected me greatly but those are rare, they are the gems of English literature. And, as I said above, I have been greatly affected by four news articles in my lifetime. What makes journalism and creative writing the same I am finding, is that each provoke emotion. It is the way the authors go about provoking the emotion where the difference lies.

This week has been an interesting one, to say the least. So many positive things have been happening to me that I kind of expect the universe to be playing a trick on me. I found out yesterday that I was one of twenty people to make it into a creative writing course next semester (I submitted a portfolio about three weeks ago) and got a good mark on my first journalism assignment. AND I got to meet my favourite author at an amazing event last night with Sherry Lee. But before I go any further on that one, we also have a new roommate as of today! As you may remember, we had a missing roommate Margarita. It turns out Margarita is stuck in Ecuador (her home) because of visa complications. Today the doorbell rang and our Residence Advisor informed us that we would have a new roommate moving in from the other set of residences in two hours (que Pona and I to go on a mad cleaning rampage). The doorbell rang mid-clean and there was our new roommate standing before us. The funny thing is, she is in one of my art classes and I always look to see what she’s wearing because she has a really nice style. So there you go, case of the missing roommate closed.

One of my favourite authors is in Canada this week for The International Festival of Authors. Aryn Kyle is the author of Boys and Girls Like You and Me and The God of Animals and both her novels have been extremely influential. Everyone who is reading this MUST read her books! Sherry Lee and her friend whose first novel was published last month (Words That Start with the Letter B)

and I went to see an author discussion with Aryn Kyle, Trevor Cole and Andrew O'Hagan. She signed my book after (I was shaking I was so excited) and then we got a photo. (Note my expression, I am just too overwhelmed). Sherry Lee is friends with her and they were just chatting away while I stood staring in awe. I think what was the most exciting part of it for me was that I treasured her words as I was reading her novels-they were all so personal and I finished her novels feeling as though I knew her so well. To meet the person who wrote these words was kind of surreal.

I also produced an art project for my studio class this week. Our task was to create a non-traditional book and my idea was to take photos of as many different people. One photo was of their face and then another was of their torso holding up a sign (I also asked them to bring two different tops to wear). I asked them to each produce one sentence, word or picture that explained who they were in some way. I ended up having thirty photos and lined them all up (mixing up the faces and signs) and bound them together with ribbon. I was trying to explore the idea that we judge people subconsciously; as the reader goes through the book, they are trying to match up the faces to the signs. Below are some photos I took:


I have been feeling very thankful the past few days to have never felt the incomprehensible grief that those around the Willams case are experiencing. And I hope that I, nor anyone else in my circle of family and friends ever does. So maybe that was what the universe wanted me to acknowledge this week: I am so lucky.

Take a look at the articles I've written for the UofT paper here!
http://www.the-underground.ca/2010/10/07/me-to-we-inspires-change-and-diversity/

Day 77

Today in my "But Why is it Art?" class, my teacher showed us this image entitled The Lovers:


Couple Marina Abramquic and Ulay ended their relationship in 1988 by walking towards one another from opposite ends of the Great Wall of China. They each walked 2000 km (90 days) to meet up halfway. When they finally united, they kissed good-bye to mark their seperation from then on.

There is something so romantic about this endeavour which is ironic considering they were meeting up to say good-bye. How easy life would be if saying goodbye to a loved one was filled with this much passion, commitment and civility.

University! Day 74

Despite my lack of dedication (please read: time) to upload anything in a month, I hope my lovely followers are still dedicated to following.

Today's topic: University. Ah, yes. University. The things that have defined my first three weeks:

-No sleep (I've gone to bed at 4am on numerous occasions, scrambling to get assignments done due the next day at 9am).

-Lots of reading (I’ve probably done the amount of reading I do during a summer in the last three weeks).

-Perogies (what my diet consists of).

-Meeting so many people from all over the world (my next door neighbour is from Malaysia, my roommate is from Shanghai, another friend a few houses down is from Tanzania and beside him lives a girl from Spain whose name is ALSO Alexandra!)

My first two weeks were completely overwhelming. From day one, I was thrown into this completely new situation. So many things were happening around me. It was terrifying, exciting, inspiring and FUN. Week three (last week) was more manageable and I'm really starting to get a handle on things (the 4ams are dying down).

I’ve written two articles for the UofT newspaper, handed in two assignments, made a contemporary art piece out of bread tags, joined a lyrical jazz class (dancing again was quite an experience, I forgot just how much I’ve missed it), procrastinated to the extreme & had many adventures. This semester I am taking Intro to Journalism (what I’m specializing in), Intro to the Study of Studio (my minor is going to be art/photography), But Why is it Art? (my many trips to all those British galleries have come in quite handy already) and Women’s Studies (I am in love with this course-it has addressed ideas about our world that I had never considered before but can relate to quite a bit).

I love living with Pona and our lovely roommate Lilly. Our fourth roommate “Margarita” (we envision a Spanish chica, castanets clacking in hand whenever she is mentioned) has not arrived, but it is quite nice just the three of us because we all get along so well.

The campus is so beautiful. It is small which is nice and our house is in a forest (chipmunks and squirrels frolick in the bushes all day long) and because all the houses are so close together, it feels very much like a community. Everything we need is in walking distance which is so great! I feel so lukcy to be in residence, it has changed my university experience already. Our house is located in "Birch Hall" and there are about thirty of us (we're called The Birch Bees). We have regular get togethers & have house cheers as well. Everyone in each hall is very close with their members. It's a lot like Harry Potter and I'm loving every moment (well, not the 4ams) of it.

Below are photos from move-in day.