"Barry Glassner - The Culture of Fear (incomplete)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Glassner Barry)

Given that workplace violence is far from pandemic, why were journalists so inclined to write about it? Perhaps because workplace violence is a way of talking about the precariousness of employment without directly confronting what primarily put workers at risk-the endless waves of corporate layoffs that began in the early 1980s. Stories about workplace violence routinely made mention of corporate downsizing as one potential cause, but they did not treat mass corporate firing as a social ill in its own right. To have done so would have proven difficult for many journalists. For one thing, whom would they have cast as the villain of the piece? Is the CEO who receives a multimillion dollar raise for firing tens of thousands of employees truly evil? Or is he merely making his company more competitive in the global economy? And how would a journalist's boss-or boss's boss at the media conglomerate that owns the newspaper or network-feel about publishing implicit criticism of something they themselves have done? Pink slips arrived with regularity in newsrooms like everywhere else in corporate America in recent years, and they didn't exactly inspire reporters to do investigative pieces about downsizing.

To its great credit, the New York Times did eventually run an excellent series of articles on downsizing in 1996. In one of the articles the authors noted off-handedly and without pursuing the point that about 50 percent more people are laid off each year than are victims of crime. It is an important comparison. From 1980 through 1995 more than 42 million jobs were eliminated in the United States. The number of jobs lost per year more than doubled over that time, from about 1.5 million in 1980 to 3.25 million in 1995. By comparison, during that same period most crime rates-including those for violent crimes-declined. A working person was roughly four to five times more likely to be the victim of a layoff in any given year than to be the victim of a violent crime committed by a stranger.

For many, job loss is every bit as disabling and demoralizing as being the victim of a crime. You can lose your home, your health insurance, your self-esteem, your sense of security, and your willingness to report harassment or hazardous working conditions at your next place of employment. During the economic boom of the late 1990s layoffs occurred at an even higher rate than in the 1980s. In what former Secretary of Labor Robert Reich dubbed "down-waging" and "down-benefiting," highly profitable companies replaced full-time workers with part-timers, temps, and lower-paid full-timers, and they subcontracted work to firms that paid lower wages and provided poorer benefits. Yet throughout the past two decades the news media printed and broadcast exponentially more stories about crime. In the early and mid-1990s 20 to 30 percent of news items in city newspapers concerned crime, and close to half of the news coverage on local television newscasts was about crime.

Unhappy Halloween

Workplace violence was not the first false crime crisis used by journalists as a roundabout way to talk about other matters they found difficult to address directly. Even the New York Times has been known to engage in the practice.

"Those Halloween goodies that children collect this weekend on their rounds of 'trick or treating' may bring them more horror than happiness," began a story in the Times in October 1970 that launched a long-running crime panic. "Take, for example," the reporter continued, "that plump red apple that Junior gets from a kindly old woman down the block. It may have a razor blade hidden inside. The chocolate 'candy' bar may be a laxative, the bubble gum may be sprinkled with lye, the popcorn balls may be coated with camphor, the candy may turn out to be packets containing sleeping pills."

Similar articles followed in the nation's news media every autumn for years to come. In 1975 Newsweek reported in its edition that hit newsstands at the end of October, "If this year's Halloween follows form, a few children will return home with something more than an upset tummy: in recent years, several children have died and hundreds have narrowly escaped injury from razor blades, sewing needles and shards of glass purposefully put into their goodies by adults."

In her columns of the mid- and late 1980s even "Dear Abby" was reminding parents around trick-or-treat time that "somebody's child will become violently ill or die after eating poisoned candy or an apple containing a razor blade." An ABC News/Washington Post poll in 1985 showed that 60 percent of parents feared their kids could become victims.

This time no journalist stepped forward to correct the media's and public's collective fantasy, even though, as Jan Harold Brunvand, the folklorist and author observed, "it's hard to imagine how someone could shove a blade into a fruit without injuring himself. And wouldn't the damage done to the apple by such a process make it obvious that something was wrong with it?"

The myth of Halloween bogeymen and bogeywomen might never have been exposed had not a sociologist named Joel Best become sufficiently leery that he undertook an examination of every reported incident since 1958. Best, currently a professor at the University of Southern Illinois, established in a scholarly article in 1985 that there has not been a single death or serious injury. He uncovered a few incidents where children received minor cuts from sharp objects in their candy bags, but the vast majority of reports turned out to be old-fashioned hoaxes, sometimes enacted by young pranksters, other times by parents hoping to make money in lawsuits or insurance scams.

Ironically, in the only two known cases where children apparently did die from poisoned Halloween candy, the myth of the anonymous, sadistic stranger was used to cover up the real crime. In the first incident family members sprinkled heroin on a five-year-old's Halloween candy in hopes of fooling the police about the cause of the child's death. Actually, the boy had found and eaten heroin in his uncle's home. In the second incident a boy died after eating cyanide-poisoned candy on Halloween, but police determined that his father had spiked the candy to collect insurance money. Bill Ellis, a professor of English at Penn State University, has commented that both of these incidents, reported in the press at first as stranger murders, "reinforced the moral of having parents examine treats-ironically, because in both cases family members were responsible for the children's deaths!"

Yet if anonymous Halloween sadists were fictitious creatures, they were useful diversions from some truly frightening realities, such as the fact that far more children are seriously injured and killed by family members than by strangers. Halloween sadists also served in news stories as evidence that particular social trends were having ill effects on the populace. A psychiatrist quoted in the New York Times article held that Halloween sadism was a by-product of "the permissiveness in today's society." The candy poisoner him- or herself was not directly to blame, the doctor suggested. The real villains were elsewhere. "The people who give harmful treats to children see criminals and students in campus riots getting away with things," the Times quoted him, "so they think they can get away with it, too."

In many of these articles the choice of hero also suggests that other social issues are surreptitiously being discussed. At a time when divorce rates were high and rising, and women were leaving home in great numbers to take jobs, news stories heralded women who represented the antithesis of those trends-full-time housewives and employed moms who returned early from work to throw safe trick-or-treat parties for their children and their children's friends in their homes or churches, or simply to escort their kids on their rounds and inspect the treats.

Kiddie Porn and Cyberpredators

The Halloween tales were forerunners of what grew into a media staple of the last quarter of the twentieth century: crime stories in which innocent children fall victim to seemingly innocuous adults who are really perverts. The villains take several familiar forms, two of the more common being the child pornographer and his or her pedophile customers.

A report on NBC News in 1977 let it be known that "as many as two million American youngsters are involved in the fast-growing, multi-million dollar child-pornography business"-a statement that subsequent research by criminologists and law enforcement authorities determined to be wrong on every count. Kiddie porn probably grossed less than $1 million a year (in contrast to the multibillion dollar adult industry), and hundreds, not millions, of American children were involved. Once again, facts were beside the point. The child pornographer represented, as columnist Ellen Goodman observed at the time, an "unequivocal villain" whom reporters and readers found "refreshingly uncomplicated." Unlike other pornographers, whose exploits raise tricky First Amendment issues, child pornographers made for good, simple, attention-grabbing copy.

A conspicuous subtext in coverage during the late 1970s and 1980s was adult guilt and anxiety about the increasing tendency to turn over more of children's care to strangers. Raymond Buckey and Peggy Buckey McMartin, proprietors of the McMartin Preschool in Manhattan Beach, California, were the most famous alleged child pornographers of the era. Their prosecution in the mid-1980s attracted a level of media hoopla unsurpassed until O. J. Simpson's double-murder trial nearly a decade later, and from the start they were depicted as pedophiles and child pornographers. The local TV news reporter who first broke the McMartin story declared in his initial report that children had been "made to appear in pornographic films while in the preschool's care." The media later quoted officials from the district attorney's office, making statements about "millions of child pornography photographs and films" at the school.

Not a single pornographic photograph taken at the McMartin School has ever been produced, despite handsome offers of reward money and vast international police investigations. Yet thanks to the media coverage, when social scientists from Duke University conducted a survey in 1986, four out of five people said they believed that Raymond Buckey was part of a child pornography ring.

In more recent years child pornographers and pedophiles have come in handy for fear mongering about the latest variety of baby-sitter: the Internet. In the 1990s politicians and the news media have made much of the existence of pedophilia in cyberspace. Speaking in 1998 on behalf of legislation he drafted that makes it easier to convict "cyberpredators" and imprison them longer, Representative Bill McCollum of Florida made the customary claim: "Sex offenders who prey on children no longer need to hang out in parks or malls or school yards." Nowadays, warned McCollum, child pornographers and pedophiles are just "a mouse click away" from their young prey.

This time the panic did not rely so much on suspicious statistics as on peculiar logic. With few cases of youngsters having been photographed or attacked by people who located them on-line, fear mongers found it more convenient simply to presume that "as the number of children who use the Internet continues to boom . . . pornography and pedophilia grow along with it" (New York Times). Reporters portrayed the inhabitants of cyberspace, children and adults alike, in somewhat contradictory ways. About the kids they said, on the one hand, "Internet-savvy children can also easily access on-line pornography" (New York Times). On the other hand, reporters depicted computer-proficient kids as precisely the opposite of savvy. They described them as defenseless against pedophiles and child pornographers in cyberspace. "Depraved people are reaching right into your home and touching your child," Hugh Downs told viewers of ABC's "20/20."

To judge from reports by some of the people featured in news reports, cyberspace was largely devoid of other adults who could protect children from these creeps. The Internet is "a city with no cops," the New York Times quoted a district attorney from Suffolk County, even though law enforcement officials actually do a great deal of lurking and entrapping. Since 1993 the FBI has conducted an operation codenamed "Innocent Images" in which agents assume false identities and post seductive messages on the Internet and on-line services. In one of the more highly publicized busts that resulted from the operation, a thirty-one-year-old Washington, D.C., attorney was arrested when he showed up at a shopping mall to meet a fourteen-year-old girl whom he had propositioned on-line for sex. In reality he had been corresponding with an adult FBI agent who had assumed a provocative on-line name-"One4fun4u"-and had sent the man messages stating that she'd had experience with an older man and "it was a lot of fun." In another arrest, a fifty-eight-year-old man was snagged by agents who used the names "Horny15bi" and "Sexcollctr" and described themselves on-line as "dreaming of kinky sex." One of them gave as her motto, "vice is nice but incest is best."

Cyberspace has been policed by other adults as well. Reporters for newspapers and television stations, posing as young teens or preteens, have responded to solicitations for sex, only to arrive at the agreed-on meeting place with cameras and cops in tow. Groups with names like "Cyber Angels" and "Safeguarding Our Children" collect information on pedophiles via e-mail from children who say they have been approached or molested. Members of adult vigilante groups make it a practice to disrupt Internet chat rooms where child pornography is traded and pass along information to police.

While judicial experts continue to debate which of these intervention strategies constitute entrapment or invasion of privacy, there is an extralegal question as well. David L. Sobel, an attorney with the Electronic Privacy Information Center, framed the question succinctly. "Are we making the world a better place," he asked rhetorically, "by tempting some of these people to commit crimes they may not have otherwise committed?"

Subtract from the battery of accounts in news stories all instances where the "children" lured out of cyberspace were actually undercover adults, and what remains? Several of the most widely covered incidents involving real children turn out to be considerably more ambiguous than they seem on first hearing. Take for instance the murder of eleven-year-old Eddie Werner in a suburb in New Jersey in 1997. Defined in the media as the work of a "Cyber Psycho" (New York Post headline) and proof that the Internet is, as an advocacy group put it, "a playground for pedophiles," the killing actually bore only a tertiary connection to the Net. Eddie Werner had not been lured on-line. He was killed while selling holiday items door to door for the local PTA. Reporters and activists made the link to the Internet by way of Werner's killer, Sam Manzie, a fifteen-year-old who had been having sex in motel rooms throughout the previous year with a middle-aged man he had met in a chat room.
In an essay critical of the reporting about the Werner murder Newsweek writer Steven Levy correctly pointed out: "Cyberspace may not be totally benign, but in some respects it has it all over the often overrated real world. After all, one could argue, if young Eddie Werner had been selling his candy and gift-wrapping paper on the Internet, and not door to door, tragedy might not have struck."