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I am very honored to be here to accept an award that honors not only
the Baltimore Sun but also the determination of the group of
brave women we interviewed
- Tracy Whitehead, Michella Osborne, Lisa Anderson, Stacy Culotta and Amie Gearheart.
These women all cared enough about raising public awareness of domestic violence
to share their own private moments of terror and humiliation as its victims.
Such honest and heartfelt accounts make domestic violence personal and impossible
to ignore. I would also like to acknowledge the other members of the team
who worked so hard to bring this complicated and nuanced story to light.
The talented reporters, editor, photographer and
designer are Pat Meisol, Ann LoLordo, Marego Athans, Jan Winburn, Doug Kapustin
and Joannah Hill.
And I would like to thank the Dart Center for Journalism & Trauma
for having the wisdom and compassion to recognize coverage
of the often forgotten victims of violence.
Now I would like to tell you a bit more about how these brave young women
entrusted their stories to us.
Roughly a year ago, Baltimoreans were swept up in the grim drama of
fugitive Joseph Palczynski. The 31-year-old man had kidnapped the girlfriend
who fled his abuse, then killed the couple who was sheltering her as
well as two other bystanders. After Tracy Whitehead escaped him again,
Palczynski took her relatives hostage. The tense stand-off lasted several
days before police sharpshooters killed him.
At the time this story was unfolding, I was reading about it several
states away in the middle of a family vacation. I imagined the desperation
and fear of the young woman Palczynski had abused and kidnapped, never
dreaming that I would soon be writing about her nightmares as well as
those of the women who came before her.
When I returned, my colleagues and I began investigating Palczynski's
record of domestic abuse. Through weeks of reporting and researching,
we found that at least seven young women had filed charges against him.
We were able to find and talk to most of them. And the details we heard
about their seduction and victimization began to sound familiar and chilling.
Through their reports
- and those of their families
- Joseph Palczynski
emerged as the archetypal domestic abuser. His rampage
became the ultimate expression of domestic violence:
He had finally made good on all of his threats to regain
control of his girlfriends.
As we interviewed these women, we discovered many of the stereotypes
about domestic abuse were still firmly in place when they pressed charges:
What did she do to provoke him?
If he hurt her so bad, where are the bruises?
If he beat her up like she says, then why did she go back with him?
Maybe she was lying because she was jealous.
After hearing each woman's harrowing tale of being beaten and threatened,
such widespread misconceptions made me furious. Who were these sexist
idiots, I wondered.
Then I found that even my own friends were suspicious about the victims
we had interviewed.
What did all those women see in that guy? They'd ask, thinking of the
prison mug shot they knew from TV. How could anyone in her right mind
go out with him? These women must have been real losers to begin with.
Their comments stuck in my mind. This blame-the-victim perception became
the most persistent stereotype in a story riddled with cultural biases.
And it determined how I structured the story.
I wanted readers to know these victims as the attractive, starry-eyed
teenagers they were when they first met Joseph Palczynski. His victims
were mostly 16 and 17 year old girls who were longing to be treated as
grownups. They were pretty, passionate, and vulnerable. And they all
believed in giving people second chances.
The lead of the story became their vision of Palczynski, a vision they
almost completely agreed upon. He was a handsome, cleancut
young man who opened doors for them and was polite to
their parents. He brought them flowers, picked them up
from school in his sports car. He took them to meet his
mother. He spent lots of time listening to them ... then
he actually remembered what they had said.
In short, Palczynski was everything their parents had always told them
they deserved. No one had ever made them feel that special, they told
us.
Were these women losers? No. Like so many battered women, they were
young girls who had fallen deeply and completely in love with a man who
would first use their love to persuade them, then twist it to hurt them.
More than anything else, I wanted to reveal the truth about the manipulative
nature of domestic abuse
- and about how anyone can
be susceptible to it.
Palczynski often boasted that he could con judges and shrinks. And
it was his ability to turn on the charm, to persuade people to see things
the way he wanted them to, that convinced many authorities to treat him
more leniently. The series showed that each time that happened, his victims
suffered more. Each time he was let off the hook, his victims were led
to feel somehow responsible for his violence against them.
I hope this series set the record straight on Palczynski's intentions
and powers of manipulation. However, his victims have not yet recovered.
And their pain and troubles continue to haunt me.
The most difficult part of this story for me was discovering how many
of the women are still grappling with the after-effects
of Palczynski's physical and psychological torment -
despite good support systems. Several women have abused drugs
and have been treated for clinical depression. One is
afraid to take a walk by herself. Another will not sleep
alone at night. All have struggled, some unsuccessfully, to establish
healthy relationships with men. And the victims' families, of course,
have suffered with them.
I am grateful to the Dart Center for calling attention with this award
to the plight of the victims of domestic violence
- and
to the work that remains to be done on this important,
misunderstood subject.
Thank you.
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