{"id":2381,"date":"2023-01-27T13:41:17","date_gmt":"2023-01-27T13:41:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/niemanstoryboard.org\/2023\/01\/27\/challenging-the-stereotype-of-uvaldes-plucky-child-survivor\/"},"modified":"2025-03-24T15:20:45","modified_gmt":"2025-03-24T15:20:45","slug":"challenging-the-stereotype-of-uvaldes-plucky-child-survivor","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/niemanstoryboard.org\/2023\/01\/27\/challenging-the-stereotype-of-uvaldes-plucky-child-survivor\/","title":{"rendered":"Challenging the stereotype of Uvalde’s plucky child survivor"},"content":{"rendered":" \n
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Washington Post reporter John Woodrow Cox<\/a> has spent six years covering stories of gun violence and children, fashioning a beat out of one of America\u2019s most heartbreaking realities.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Yet when he first heard about the shooting last May at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas, he was stunned. It had been just 10 years since 20 children and six teachers were killed at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. Despite that, and Cox\u2019s deep immersion into a subject, he couldn\u2019t fathom that so many children \u2014 19, along with two teachers \u2014 had lost their lives.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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The Post asked if he wanted to fly to Uvalde to cover the immediate aftermath of the shooting. He declined.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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John Woodrow Cox<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n<\/div> \n
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\u201cI could not be one of the 10,000 reporters on the ground banging on doors, desperately trying to get a quote from one kid,\u201d said Cox, who was in tears upon hearing the final death toll. Instead, he wrote<\/a> about how survivors of other school shootings were responding to the news, and he began thinking about how his eventual Uvalde coverage would unfold.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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One month after the shooting, Cox did fly to Uvalde and ended up spending the summer with survivor Caitlyne Gonzales and her parents. The Posts\u2019s former managing editor, Steven Ginsberg, had encouraged him to travel Uvalde and pour all of his experience covering gun violence into a single story. What resulted was an 8,500-word piece that confronts the stereotype of the plucky survivor while uncovering the ups and downs of trauma and the challenges of recovery.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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The story, \u201cAn American Girl<\/a>,\u201d<\/strong> published in The Washington Post on Oct. 24, 2022, is a powerful example of a restorative narrative<\/a> \u2013 stories that show how people and communities are rebuilding in the aftermath of trauma. Rather than sugarcoating hard truths, these narratives address them head on and explore the messy middle between a tragedy and one\u2019s recovery from it.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Showing a fuller picture of trauma survivors<\/h2>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n
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 <\/strong>If you\u2019ve followed the Uvalde coverage closely, you may have seen photos of Caitlyne speaking at school board meetings<\/a> or delivering a talk to Congress<\/a> about the need for a ban on assault weapons. She has become, as Cox wrote, Robb Elementary School\u2019s most public survivor: \u201ca voice for her friends who were dead and for those who were alive but too daunted to say anything \u2026 a 4-foot-8, 75-pound embodiment of the maroon \u2018Uvalde Strong\u2019 flags flying all over Texas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Cox used patience and insight to report past these outward displays of resilience and show the inner pain, fear, and struggles that Caitlyne has faced in the tragedy\u2019s aftermath. He portrays Caitlyne not as a fully recovered survivor but as a human being who grapples with strength and sorrow, love and loss. He achieves this through a poignant mix of details, juxtapositions, interviews, and reconstructed scenes he witnessed first-hand.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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The juxtapositions he sprinkles throughout are striking. In one part, Cox describes Caitlyne as<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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 <\/strong>a child who didn\u2019t know how to ride a bike without training wheels but did know about ballistic windows and bulletproof backpacks<\/a> and the movement to ban assault weapons. Who spent as much time following the Instagram pages of her favorite gun safety champions as she did Bad Bunny\u2019s TikTok account. Who was 10, but seldom acted her age, speaking in public about fear and death with the eloquence of an adult, while in private, enduring flashbacks so vivid that she needed bedtime lullabies meant for toddlers to soothe her.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Later in the piece, Cox shows Caitlyne\u2019s fear of going to sleep by herself. The night of the shooting, she had asked her mother to stay at the foot of her bed. As time passed, she asked her mom to sleep beside her, then face-to-face, breath-to-breath. \u201cCaitlyne needed to know her mother was alive,\u201d Cox told me.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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After more than two months of building trust with Caitlyne and her family, Cox gained their permission to install a GoPro and baby monitor in Caitlyne\u2019s room for one night. He wanted to see how she wrestled with trauma behind closed doors, when the world wasn\u2019t watching. Cox recalls sitting in the Gonzales\u2019 kitchen that night as Caitlyne\u2019s parents tried having a few moments to themselves in the living room before going to bed. On the baby monitor, he watched Caitlyne unravel as she waited for her mom to come into her room. Audibly crying, she curled up in the fetal position on her bedroom floor in front of her Barbie Dreamhouse.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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In an interview, Cox reflected on how difficult it was to watch this scene unfold. \u201cHere\u2019s this kid who has no ceiling, right? Her potential is just like, unlimited. But this is what she has been reduced to,\u201d Cox told me. \u201cShe’s the kid who cannot sleep alone, who cannot even be in a dark room alone without her mother for 15 minutes without coming completely undone because of something that she has no control over. She cannot control the way her body is responding to that fear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Unveiling the complexities of trauma<\/h2>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n
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Cox\u2019s story is a testament to the complexities of trauma and the unpredictability of its effects.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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\u201cA piece like this is important because it shows the broader, longer-term, insidious impacts of trauma,\u201d says trauma psychologist Kevin Becker, who has helped journalists think through restorative narratives. \u201cIt helps people understand that the impacts of trauma ripple through many, many aspects of your life, even if you’re a child.\u201d<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Trauma recovery, he said, is a developmental process \u2013 one that unfolds over time with ebbs and flows. Stories that pull back the curtain on this process can generate greater understanding and empathy compared to surface-level stories that show children recovering quickly from tragedy.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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\u201cThe more accurate a picture people have of what trauma does and what the impacts of trauma are, the more caring we can be, the more understanding we can be and the more trauma-informed we can be as a culture,\u201d said Becker, who founded ORI Consulting<\/a>, an organization focused on trauma response and recovery. \u201cIf all we know is something that looks nice and neat and clean, and we don’t hear about all the struggles and the messy middle, then we’re really not educated about the impacts of trauma. And for journalists, if you’re not able to tell these kinds of stories, then you’re probably not telling a completely accurate story.\u201d<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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There\u2019s a tendency to think that children are more resilient than adults and that they bounce back faster from tragedy. \u201cThat\u2019s one of those myths that’s out there and it\u2019s really not true,\u201d Becker said. This isn\u2019t to say that children\u2019t aren\u2019t<\/em> resilient, but when we only focus on their resilience, we miss the opportunity to explore other aspects of their lived experience.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Cox was cognizant of this when reporting and writing about Caitlyne. \u201cI’ve come to hate the term \u2018children are resilient\u2019 because it\u2019s dismissive. It allows adults to not take on the responsibilities that they should,\u201d said Cox, who authored the book \u201cChildren Under Fire: An American Crisis.<\/a>\u201d \u201cWe see children being happy and running around and joking around. And people think, Well, they’re fine, right?<\/em> We so desperately want kids to be okay that we will cling to evidence that they are alright. We will seek out that evidence and ignore the rest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Making the most of limited time<\/h2>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n
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Though Cox was able to spend the summer with Caitlyne and her family, he normally doesn\u2019t have this much time or access. When on tighter deadlines, he tries to spread his interviews out over at least a two-day period. Showing up on the second day shows children that you\u2019re committed.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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\u201cThere’s a layer of trust that they afford you,\u201d Cox said. \u201cThe leap that you’ll make from that first conversation to the second is really significant.\u201d<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Before interviewing children, he asks their parents or guardians a couple of key questions: Is there anything I shouldn\u2019t say? <\/em>and Is there anything I need to avoid?<\/em> He also asks them to describe the types of questions the children are asking.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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\u201cThe questions they\u2019re asking give you insight into their anxiety and what\u2019s on their mind. Suddenly you\u2019re getting past that initial barrier of \u2018I\u2019m fine,\u2019\u201d said Cox, referring to the common response children give when asked how they\u2019re doing. \u201cThey aren’t going to say, \u2018This makes me sad,\u2019 or \u2018I feel bad about this.\u2019 But if they’re worried about the shooter coming after them, they might be asking about the shooter. If they’re worried about the security of the school, they might say, \u2018Well, is there going to be a fence? Are there going to be cops there?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Cox tells the children he\u2019s interviewing that he\u2019s not an authority figure \u2014 and that they can choose whether or not to answer his questions. He also tries to sit on the floor during interviews with children so that he\u2019s not towering over them.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Cox asks questions related to details, scenes and memories, knowing that memories can be windows into a person\u2019s innermost feelings and thoughts. When children start opening up, Cox likes to ask \u201cWhat happened next?\u201d as a way of showing interest and advancing the storytelling process.<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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Drawing upon his expertise as a trauma psychologist, Becker suggested some other questions that journalists can consider asking children (or anyone for that matter) in the wake of traumatic events:<\/p>\n\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n \n

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