The story follows a 5-year-old boy who is addicted to heroin. It's a harrowing story of street smarts, drugs, abuse, racism, and possible early death. You can't read this story and not be moved by it. Since it was published in 1980, nine years before I was even a twinkle in my parents' eyes, I could only approach this story with the knowledge that it was fake.
However, that didn't stop me from becoming engrossed. It's beautifully written, and the language and tone create a stark honesty that made it so convincing. I wanted to believe this story; I wanted to believe in the nitty gritty and profound journalism that would have been necessary to find a story like this. I began to read the article like a chapter in a novel. I found myself analyzing the dialogue and wondering how long it took her to master a dialect, master the voice of a 5-year-old drug addict. There were times when I wondered how people didn't question this immediately, and there were times where I felt betrayed as a reader because the voice was so strong.
It left me wondering what would drive someone to do this. Completely fabricating a story in journalism is a risk I couldn't imagine taking. Why would you take a chance on your career, your reputation? Cooke later went on to offer a small explanation, but it didn't seem good enough. Even though the ways of fact-checking in the 1980s weren't nearly as extensive as they are now, the core values and heart of journalism remain the same. If someone could do this then (for the sake of producing something great under pressure), what's stopping it from happening again?
Something needs to change, starting with the interior of journalism. Whether it's re-evaluating values, taking a closer look at the stories, or reestablishing faith and trust amongst the reporters, this cannot happen again. Unfortunately, I'm sure it already has.
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