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 On
April 9, 2001 a shocking offense occurred in an overlooked public
housing project in Houston: a mother of five was purposely set
ablaze by her estranged husband - the man who once vowed to love,
honor and cherish her had tried to kill her. The attack was initially
reported by the media but quickly faded in favor of other news
stories. Meanwhile, Angela Hudson was fighting for her life after
suffering second- and third-degree burns from her waist to the
top of her head.
When I read the newspaper brief about this attack, I was instantly
drawn to the story. Partly because of the brutality of the assault.
Mostly because it hit a nerve. Like many others, I grew up a witness
to domestic violence, although less violent in comparison to Hudson's
situation. Yet, the memories to this day are vivid. I can still
hear the squeal of police sirens. I can still see my older sister
(time and time again) black and blue after her husband beat her.
I can still smell the fear.
I knew firsthand that the effects go beyond the offender and
victim. They extend generations.
When I approached Hudson's mother, Doris Tate, in the burn unit
waiting room, I recognized her face. It was one of loneliness
and heartache. I had seen that face before.
She shared pictures of her oldest daughter with me and how she
spiraled from a loving, outgoing woman to a defeated and controlled
wife. Understandably, Tate was reluctant at first to cooperate
on a story. Her daughter was on life support clinging to life.
This was the worst moment of their lives and a reporter and photographer
— strangers — were asking to document it all.
Andrew Innerarity, the photographer on this project, and I pledged
to be respectful of the family's wishes including Angela's decision
to participate in the story once she was able to make that determination
on her own. It was a huge gamble journalistically speaking, but
we were there to report a remarkable story not worsen a family's
pain or hinder the recovery process. This, after all, was a family
who never dealt with the media. They, like all other victims of
crime, deserved that extra care.
After that, they allowed us tremendous access — from heart-wrenching
visits in the sterile burn unit to family birthday parties. As
we spent our days, nights, weekends and holidays with the family,
they shared their history with us — an unfortunate legacy
of domestic abuse that is far too prevalent in our society. Each
of these women (including Hudson's teen-age daughter Angel) had
a story to tell — from the past, present to the future. Three
voices. Three perspectives.
The reader response was tremendous. In two days following the
story, more than 100 women contacted shelters wanting help to
escape their abusive situations. And those are just the ones we
know about. That's all the family wanted out of this endeavor
— to help others so that they wouldn't have to suffer as
this family had.
Today the family continues to receive calls from well-wishers.
To them it's a good sign; their message of hope is still circulating.
I'm happy to report that the family is slowly moving forward.
Angela Hudson is back with her children although they once again
live in the apartment where the attack took place. She says it's
a sacrifice she's willing to make to be a mother again.
Only recently did I tell the Tates and Hudsons of my experiences
with domestic violence. As journalists we are taught to be fair
and impartial and to keep our feelings on the sidelines. I believe
in those tenets, but that shouldn't preclude us from drawing upon
our life experiences to report stories others can't quite see
or comprehend. You see, it's our unique experiences that give
us the insight and the ability to tell a story with more heart,
more feeling. It's that perspective that makes the story more
than a collection of words.
Tonight's ceremony comes during a time when terrorism and the
war in Iraq dominate headlines. (Right now, Andrew Innerarity
is imbedded with Fort Hood troops who are on their way to the
Persian Gulf.) The Dart Award reminds journalists not only of
the importance of covering the news events but also documenting
the life-changing effects and trauma that will no doubt be left
behind.
On behalf of the Houston Chronicle and all my colleagues (from
editors to designers) who worked so hard on this project, I'd
like to thank the Dart Center for recognizing newspaper coverage
that documents the effects of violence — whether it is a
catastrophic event or a brief but savage moment of domestic violence.
It's an honor to be this year's recipient of the prestigious Dart
Award. We are thrilled yet humbled by the recognition.
I'd especially like to thank Angela Hudson, Doris Tate and Angel
Tate for sharing their heart-tugging journey with us. Their bravery
and resiliency is nothing short of inspiring.
Thank you.
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