Dear Rolling Stone,
I’m writing this open letter in response to your article this
month, specifically the accompanying cover featuring a self-portrait of Dzhokhar
Tsarnaev, otherwise known as the “Boston Bomber.” I live in Boston, as do many
of my family members and friends.
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Boston is a truly incredible city. This was made even more clear by the aftermath of the horrific bombing on Marathon Monday. On the
day that will live on in infamy for many years to come, I was safely ensconced
in my office in Needham, a good distance outside the city. I was unhappy at the
prospect of working during one of Boston’s most beloved holidays, but felt
reassured by the fact that during the prior year’s celebration I had been out
amongst my fellow Bostonites all over the city.
Obviously we all know what happened next. I don’t want to go
over that again, because it was truly terrible. Let’s skip forward, to the
fateful morning that began with a text from a friend that said, “Don’t leave
your apartment. There’s a lockdown” followed quickly by a text from my boss,
“Are you okay?” A few minutes later I had caught up on the events of the night
before, which involved a car chase and the death of a young MIT cop named Sean
Collier. The cops were in Watertown, a few miles away from my apartment in
Brighton, and the streets were empty due to the unwavering support of Boston
residents behind those on the streets, seeking a dangerous and desperate man.
A lot of people from other parts of the country have
criticized the decision to close down an entire city that day. They think it
was a bad choice because it plays into the hands of the terrorists who had
sought to disrupt daily life. You know what I have to say to that? Bullshit.
Anyone who lives in Boston understands that the lockdown
meant one thing, and one thing only: Don’t fuck with us, because if you do, we will shut down
this whole city to find you and bring you to justice. And you know what? That’s exactly what happened. With the exception
of one harrowing hour in which the lockdown was over and the suspect had not
yet been caught, the entire city’s population was secure in their knowledge
that Dzhokhar Tsarnaev would be found, and punished for his misdeeds.
Here’s where it gets murky: Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, the guy whose
face is smirking out from the cover of your magazine this month, is only
nineteen years old.
Does this make his actions any less abhorrent? Of course
not; a nineteen year old should know the difference between right and wrong,
and it is beyond comprehension or possibility that a good person would be able
to set off a bomb in the middle of a crowd of innocent men, women, and children
with the intent to hurt and kill them. His action cost innocent people their
lives and limbs, it robbed the city of Boston of its innocence as well as the
sense of safety we, its residents, used to take for granted.
I’m sure there was a lot of debate over whether or not to
use this cover. Some employees probably spoke against it, while others
expressed their support. “It was already on the cover of The New York Times,”
someone may have said. Maybe
members of the staff even thought that the controversy and outrage that was
sure to follow would still work in your favor, the old “all press is good
press” angle, which brings me to the point of this letter.
I think that this cover is tasteless, lazy, insulting,
outrageous, disrespectful (the list could go on forever), but on top of that,
is this simple fact: as journalists, your job is to seek out truth. This story
likely took months of research and interviews, and the resulting information is important.
We do not want history to repeat itself. We do not want some
other disenfranchised, confused, isolated, fucked up kid to decide that bombing
a public event or building is the next course of action, and you just made the
content of your story irrelevant by choosing a sensational cover that,
intentionally or not, makes a terrorist look like a rock star. Do you
understand now what I’m trying to say? With that cover, you took away any
chance of your story impacting people in a positive way.
You had the power to truly make a difference, to publish a
piece that makes people stop and think about the fact that this monster, this
murderer, was once upon a time a normal, charismatic kid. You had the chance to pose the most
important question- what the fuck happened and how can we prevent that from
ever happening again. That is what you
threw away, for the sake of a cover that was meant to shock people.
Congratulations, your message is now irrelevant.
So now, Rolling Stone, I want you to take a minute, and
imagine that some psycho blew up your city, and your eight-year-old son was one of the casualties, like
Martin William Richard. Or that your fiancé had to spend the last three months in the hospital dealing with
surgery after surgery in order to survive, like Marc Fucarile. Or imagine that
you yourself will spend the rest of your life missing an arm or a leg because
you happened to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Now imagine walking past a newsstand and seeing the face of
one of the men responsible for the unending emotional and physical pain you’ve
endured, smirking back at you from the cover of one of the most well known
magazines on the planet, as if he were Jim fucking Morrison. Than tell me again how your “hearts go
out to the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing” and your “thoughts are
always with them and the families.”
Oh and Rolling Stone? Stay the fuck out of Boston would you?
We don’t want you here anymore.
Best,
Glori Blatt-Eisengart
Boston Resident
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