By Maureen Dunne
Aaron Tucker was taking the bus to a job interview in a neighboring Connecticut city one Wednesday when he saw a serious car accident. He sprang into action — jumping off the bus and rushing to the overturned car just as it started smoking. He and two other bystanders pulled the driver from his overturned car, where paramedics were able to take him to the hospital.
After his selfless act, ABC News ran this headline: “Ex-convict misses job interview to save motorist.”
It reduced Tucker, a 32-year-old father of two who had gone out of his way to help a stranger, to one aspect of his past irrelevant to his actions. The way the newsroom described one aspect of his identity tainted the way in which readers perceived him, and his act.
Person-first language can seem counterintuitive in journalism. In a field where clarity and succinctness is prioritized, adding an extra preposition to a sentence seems unwieldy. As a student journalist and editor in student newsrooms, I’m guilty of not having been conscious of the power of putting people first — especially with a deadline looming. But, person-first wording can dramatically alter the way in which the subjects of our reporting are seen and treated by our readers.
Admittedly, “ex-convict” is a bit more eye-catching than just “man,” but at what cost? How would readers have perceived Tucker differently had the headline described him as “father?” Would the tension between the word ex-convict and his selfless act be absolved if the article described him as being “formerly incarcerated,” instead of calling him an “ex-con?”
Disability rights advocates have long emphasized the impact of person-first language when writing about people who are disabled. Word choice can mean the difference between dehumanization and empowerment.
Describing someone who uses mobility aids as “wheelchair-bound,” a phrase I’ve read so many times, suggests a wheelchair is a hindrance to, instead of enabling a person’s autonomy and movement. The phrase positions being able to move about unassisted as the default, when countless people are unable to do so.
The assumptions contained in that phrase alone can alienate readers who use mobility aids.
The Associated Press Stylebook recommends ditching identify-first language, like “disabled person,” for person-first language, like “person with a disability.” In cases where the right terminology isn’t immediately obvious, it recommends going with the descriptors members of the community themselves prefer.
The Marshall Project, a nonprofit publication dedicated to covering the U.S.’ criminal justice system, released a style guide to covering incarceration with a series of reflections on language penned by people currently in prison. One such reflection details how the word “inmate” is dehumanizing for people who are incarcerated. The writer sees it as stripping an incarcerated person of their individuality and worse, humanity.
I would not have known the gravity of using that phrase to describe someone who is incarcerated. Reading about its impact directly from someone who has felt its weight made me more conscious of how a seemingly innocent or common term may inflict harm onto those whom I use the word to describe.
At the end of the day, the communities we cover are people: People with disabilities, people who are incarcerated or formerly incarcerated, people who are unhoused. Good reporting should be inclusive and accessible to all. Something as simple as being intentional about our wording — and putting the person first — is inclusive for our readers and empathetic to our sources.
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