Author Interview

Q.

How did you get the idea for the story on the Mexican women?

A.

I'd read a news item that crab-processing plants along the Eastern seaboard were importing Mexican women to work in the crab houses. From there, I started making inquiries about the industry, and then identified a few crab houses and called them to ask questions about their work force.

Q.

How did you find them and persuade them to be in the story?

A.

Mickey Daniels Jr., the owner of Daniels Seafood, was willing to speak with me on the telephone. After a few conversations, I asked where in Mexico his work force came from. He didn't know exactly, but had a contact phone number, which happened to be to the single phone in the village of Palomas in central Mexico. I then threw out the idea of leaving Palomas with the Mexican women as they made their four-day journey to Daniels Seafood in North Carolina. Daniels was agreeable. At that point, I didn't know I would be following the women through an entire season of labor. I just knew I'd make the journey with them to North Carolina and then observe them as they settled in for the season. The story would not have been possible without the cooperation of Daniels.

Q.

How long did you spend on the story and did you work on other projects at the same time?

A.

I spent eight months on the story. I covered a hurricane and a few other quick hits, but I was mostly full-time reporting and writing the series.

Q.

What did you want the story to communicate?

A.

That a century-old tradition was coming to an end due to globalization of the economy, and to highlight the individual lives caught up inside sweeping change.

Q.

How much background research had you done before you met the women?

A.

I tried to learn as much as I could about the crab processing industry, including its workforce. I read other stories about foreign labor crews coming to the U.S. I interviewed Daniels. I learned about the H2-B guest worker program coordinated by the U.S. Labor Department. But beyond that, most of the reporting was on the ground, and I couldn't get started until I landed in Mexico.

Q.

What makes reporting for narrative different from reporting for conventional journalism?

A.

In some ways, the skills are the same. The difference really lies in the writing. No matter what sorts of stories we seek to tell, certain reporting habits -- observation, an ear for dialogue, an alert state for sensory things, asking the right questions -- should be universal. There are some differences. Reporting for narrative involves a lot more silence on the part of the reporter. You can't interrupt the flow of events with questions. You must watch the action unfold, without intervention. You must be inside, yet on the outside.

Q.

You once said that one of the most underrated things about reporting is observation, the art of watching. Why is that?

A.

You sort of need to blend into the woodwork and be unnoticed. Our natural impulse is always to ask questions, but it's sometimes wrong: it makes you the focus of attention instead of the person you're writing about. In quietness comes a humbleness. It honors the person you are trying to observe.

Questions, on the other hand, are a form of control. Questions are a form of stage managing. Of course journalists must ask questions. But observation means putting your own curiosities on hold and letting the subject just live. Silence and ease are essential. Like the best documentary photographer, you must melt into the background. When this happens, you see or hear or smell things that no question could produce.

Q.

How do you learn to become a fly on the wall and not an active part of the story?

A.

It's helpful to identify your weaknesses. If you're not great at describing clothes, jot down in your notebook "clothes." This will help remind you to write down what someone is wearing. You can remind yourself to pay attention to all sorts of things. It's often hard not to interject your opinion, or shape the action. If you're waiting with a subject at a bus stop and the bus comes along but the subject doesn't stand up to catch it, it's hard not to say, "hey, isn't this our bus?" But you can't. You must watch the subject miss the bus.

Q.

How did you work when you, for instance, were observing the women for a whole workday?

A.

Think like a photographer, hang back, watch, move your seat. If you're watching a family at dinner, change your place around the dining room table. Keep moving and shifting and being quiet; try not to interrupt the flow of what's happening in front you.

Q.

Please talk to me a little more about observing -- just being silent, watching. How do you develop a skill like that and how do you explain it to the people you are following? How long does it take to develop a closeness to the people so that they accept that?

A.

There is no skill to being silent. It requires discipline, because most reporters want to control the situation by asking questions and steering the conversation. They have a short amount of time to accomplish their mission. But some stories require patience and observation. Watch how the best documentary photographers work. They become invisible, moving around the room, around their subject, moving high, moving low, moving away. A reporter can do the same. Watch the action unfold. Remind yourself to be quiet. Be patient. Hang in there.

To explain this to a subject, just say at the beginning of the reporting process that as a reporter you will be asking lots of questions. You will be interviewing a variety of people, but there will be times when you will just want to watch and learn. Initially, the subject's inclination is to perform, or they are so self-conscious that they appear shut down. But once they become comfortable, they tend to relax and fall back into their normal behavior. Some people are naturals and right away go about their business, despite the presence of a witness. Others aren't quite as comfortable and require more getting used to the reporter.

Q.

Some people think relying on observation is dangerous because it is very subjective, what we see. What are your thoughts on that?

A.

This can be offset by re-interviewing someone after you observe them. Have the person reconstruct the experience and see how their recollection matches your recorded observation.

Naturally, if you're trying to describe the moment a jury foreman reads a verdict, and you see the defendant crying, it's a plain fact. Generally, it's the qualifying that can be tricky: was he "wailing" or "sobbing" or "quietly weeping"? Make sure your sight lines are good and unobstructed so you can clearly view something with your own eyes. Additionally, turn to someone else to verify what you just saw. If there is time, match your findings with videotapes, depositions, transcripts or other records.

Q.

Working on a long project like this, spending so much time with your sources, how did you explain to them that you wanted to be around them so much?

A.

It's usually not clear at the beginning how much time I'd like to spend with someone. You get more of a sense as you go along. Once you've established that a particular person is the right navigator to lead you through your story, explain to them that the best way to understand their dilemma or crisis or joy is to spend time with them, to see the world through their eyes. Make it clear that you are not interested in parachuting in; rather, you are willing to spend the time to truly learn about their lives. Let the decision be theirs. Ask them how they feel about you shadowing them. Tell them there's a good chance they will tire of you. You will tire of each other. But you will figure out a rhythm and pace that's good for both of you.

Q.

What kind of deals did you make with them about what you could write?

A.

As few as possible. Even the word "deal" makes me uncomfortable. If there are some topics that the subject says are absolutely off-limits, I try to understand why, and see how the omission of that material will affect the piece. I always listen to their concerns. I always ask them for the right to come back and ask them the question again. Who knows. Maybe they will feel more comfortable sharing at a later time, once we know each other, and they are more confident of my intentions. Sometimes certain things can't be written about before a certain time, and this is reasonable.

Q.

Didn't they ever get tired of you being there?

A.

Yes. It's good to take breaks. If you sense your subject needs a breather and you feel pretty sure that nothing crucial is about to happen, take a break. It helps everyone.

Q.

How do you encourage people, in this case the women, just to be themselves?

A.

These women were under immense pressure, and they were homesick, confused and anxious. They weren't performing for me. We had other issues, though, such as their privacy. These were young women away from the protective custody of their parents for the first time. They wanted to flirt and meet guys. They didn't want me reporting this back to their parents. So I had to balance capturing this spirit with allowing them their privacy.

Q.

How did you get the women to start talking about their lives? How do you get people to open up?

A.

As time passes, people generally start feeling more comfortable. By day five of our bus trip from Mexico to North Carolina, when none of us had bathed or slept, a lot of boundaries just naturally fell away. This was a special sort of reporting experience. But usually, people feel more at ease if you tell them up front what sort of story you will be doing, what sort of questions you will be asking and why you think this is an important story to tell. Be straightforward and direct.

Q.

What sort of details and scenes were you looking for when you observed the women?

A.

You try to think a little thematically when observing. For instance when the women were packing up to leave Mexico, I stayed alert for moments that spoke to a sense of farewell. The obvious details include suitcases, tears, goodbyes, last dinners, that sort of thing. But there was also an underlying sense of excitement for some of the young women going. They couldn't reveal this excitement to their parents. But it was there. So watching for those sorts of clues was important, because in the story, they would inject a surprise element to the well-worn and expected sentiments of leaving home.

Q.

Did you live with the women? How did you decide when to be there at the right moments?

A.

Sometimes the best things happen after six at night and it's really hard to be there. But any time you can accommodate someone else's schedule, throw away your clock and take their clock. All sorts of things emerge. I think that the source always appreciates when you're hanging out and not rushed to go.

While in Palomas, I lived with Juana Cedillo and her daughter Ana Rosa. The photographer and I slept in a spare bedroom. While reporting the story in North Carolina, I stayed in a hotel, although I was usually at the crab processing plant or with the women in their trailer at night. Not every night, but most nights. Because I was reporting this story from a distance -- I was based in St. Petersburg, Florida and the story was taking place in North Carolina and Mexico -- it was important to spend as much time as possible with the characters. The reporting was intense because it was done in short bursts of 10- to 15-day periods.

Q.

I know that you traveled for four days on a bus from Central Mexico to the coast of North Carolina with the women. Why is it important for you to try to feel what the people you are writing about are feeling?

A.

Did it add to the story in some greater way? It was a passage of maybe ten paragraphs, that four-day trip, but I really believe that suffering by proxy is no good. You have to feel at least what the people you are writing about feel like. We took that four-day trip to North Carolina and arrived at midnight. None of us had slept. None of us had changed, so the owner of the crab house, who had brought the girls for six months of labor, dropped us off by the trailer and said, "Well, I'll be back at five for the first day of work." That would be five hours later. I didn't know how I was going to do it and I didn't know how they were going to do it, but sure enough -- honk, honk -- at five a.m. we were walking back out to that van. Delia, one of the women, her hands were trembling, she was just so exhausted. I can't imagine not having gone on that trip. Because it's one thing to watch another person's hands shake and write about it and it's another thing if she can tell you her hands shook, but it's the best thing to feel your own hands tremble while you are watching her hands tremble, because you know what that feels like. At the crab house picking up a blue crab: it's sharp, cutting into your palms. I couldn't do it for ten minutes and they were doing it for ten hours. I'm not suggesting to become a Robert deNiro, the method actor of journalism, but it's really great to feel what they are feeling just for a minute. I guarantee that it infuses your writing with authority and it opens your heart to what they are going through.

Q.

A lot of journalists think that you should keep a professional distance from your sources. What is your opinion on that and is it at all possible when spending so much time with them?

A.

This sort of reporting can be troublesome ethically. The more you spend time with someone the richer it gets, but the more problems arise, too. First thing you need to remember is to live as they do, do what they do. Don't drink a cold drink in front of someone who is not allowed to drink. Just try to be aware of what they're doing. It's hard enough to be somewhere with a notebook. You are obviously already an outsider. Just don't draw attention to yourself. You can do things to minimize your presence.

But back to the tough part of spending a lot of time with someone. You will see things that trouble you and you will see things that will be hard to write about and you're going to wonder how to handle it and almost wish you didn't see it. I'd say always talk to your editor at the end of things.

It's possible to remain professional at all times. As far as 'distance' goes, I'm not exactly sure what that means during an intensive reporting process, especially one like this, where I shadowed a group of characters across two countries and six months. They always knew that I was a reporter with a job to do. I reminded them of this constantly, and they also learned it the hard way. There was an uncomfortable moment early on when the women had just crossed the border from Mexico into the U.S. Because they couldn't read English or ask for help, they became lost in a crowded bus terminal. They looked to me, naturally, to tell them which way to go. But I remained silent. I needed to see them figure out the situation themselves. Part of the hardship of their experience was being all alone as they negotiated a foreign land. I had to see how they resolved this problem. They were angry with me. Later, much later, I explained that I wasn't being cruel or trying to abandon them. But they never really forgave me, or truly understood my reluctance to rescue them. I felt awful. And yet as the months rolled by, I would say we all grew comfortable with each other. We shared stories and laughed and said tearful goodbyes at the end. It's an odd process. You grow extremely close to people but all the time you realize it's not a true friendship.

Q.

How much do you tell them about your own life?

A.

I don't think it's fair to ravage someone for every intimate detail of their lives and then not reveal anything from my own life. If they ask, which they always do, I share. I always give everyone my home phone number, and I try to be as open with everyone as I can. You can't just sit there mutely and not share things from your life. It's give and take. As the weeks and months go by you cannot remain this professional, distant iceberg. You have to share a little bit about your own life, too.

Q.

What does it mean to your reporting that you are dealing with ordinary people and not officials? Are you doing anything in different ways?

A.

Ordinary people are often the most honest, but also the most vulnerable. As reporters, we have a responsibility to not let them forget that we are observing and listening and taking notes. They musn't confuse our hanging around as friendship. Relations can be warm and easy, but we are there for one reason, usually: to get our story and get it right. I'd say that's the biggest difference between reporting on regular folk and officials.

Q.

I know that you don't generally use a tape recorder. Why?

A.

Transcribing tapes is too time-consuming. I prefer taking notes, unless I'm at a press conference and need every word. I'll also use a tape recorder if I'm interviewing someone about something highly technical or unfamiliar, so that I can get everything down and later play it back for comprehension.

Q.

How do you remember details and long scenes?

A.

I write everything down. Everything. Dialogue, atmospherics, time, weather, etc.

Q.

You seldom use quotes. Why?

A.

I try to use only quotes that matter, that can't be paraphrased and that deliver some information about how a person thinks or speaks.

Q.

A lot of reporting for narrative is about just being there, hanging around. In what situations do you use the more traditional interview style of Q & A?

A.

All along, but particularly at the very beginning of the process and heavily at the end, to learn and then fill in some of the basics. But I keep a running list of questions at all times. When I get enough, I'll schedule time to ask them. Then I start generating a new list of questions as they arise.

Q.

Working on such a long project, how did you keep track of all your notes?

A.

I go through my notes as soon as possible. It's not wise to let them get too cool before diving into the notebooks to see exactly what's there. Also, going through notes helps generate more questions, and people to interview. I use a basic form of indexing, in which I number each page in a notebook, and then number each notebook, and form an index as to what's in each notebook. I usually keep individual folders for notes, research, photos, documents, etc. I index those, too. The goal is to simplify and reduce the process of thumbing back through each notebook or piece of paper, which eats time.

Q.

Do you write everything down or are you already selective right there in the reporting process?

A.

I write most everything down, including impressions or how something makes me feel. For instance, "laughing here" or "made me cry." Maybe it's just a nervous reaction to my own emotions. But it's something I do.

Q.

Do you start writing the story at all while reporting?

A.

I write scenes, and sentences, and often imagery or words that I never end up using. But they have the ability to jump-start the writing process. As a younger writer, I would hold firm to these scribblings, but now I know they often don't belong in a piece. Rather, they serve to inspire or spark or start writing.

Q.

At what point in your reporting on the Mexican women did you begin to think of how you were going to write the story?

A.

My editor, Chris Lavin, convinced me that we should follow these women through an entire six-month season of labor. I originally was thinking we should just capture their one-way journey. But Chris knew the story would be much more effective if fully told, to show the full effects of money and labor on the Mexican women. He argued that we had to witness them coming back to Mexico, to see how they'd changed. He was right, of course. So knowing that my reporting would last six months, I tried to write some of the early parts of the story when I was only mid-way through my reporting.

Q.

What sort of ethical problems are most common during reporting? A lot of narrative is about ordinary people. What are your thoughts on portraying them through good and bad when they might not be aware what power word on paper has? What do you do to make them aware of this matter?

A.

I try not to cast people in the stark terms of good and bad. That's for the Bible and daytime TV. The grey is what interests me and feels more truthful. At the beginning of reporting, I always say to the person, you will not like everything you read about yourself. But I will do my best to understand you, to portray you accurately and fairly, and explain your point-of-view, not mine. I also try to prepare them for what will appear in the paper. As for explaining the power of the written word, most Americans understand the power of the media. The most "ordinary people" have cable and satellite dishes.

Q.

How do you avoid getting too personally involved with the source when you want them to be intimate with you? What kind of deals should one make with the sources to avoid ethical problems? How long should a reporter let a "critical" scene evolve before helping?

A.

No journalist should ever stand by and watch danger or suffering unfold just for the sake of the story. At the same time, we are there to document reality. What does a correspondent in Africa do when she walks through a refugee camp full of starving people with outstretched hands? What do you do with your water bottle in the Sudan when you are surrounded by hungry and thirsty people just a few breaths away from death? These are hard questions but very real scenarios. I reported on a family in Kentucky who had a daughter with a fever. They had no working car to get her to the doctor. My rental car was parked nearby. But I did not offer to take them right away. I needed to see how they would resolve this dilemma, because transportation and medical care are integral parts of a larger story about poverty. But I want to be clear: if the girl was in serious danger, I would have taken her to the hospital without question. Luckily, the father figured out a solution before we got to that harder crucible.

Q.

Another subject in the ethical discussion is reconstruction. What's your opinion on using scenes you haven't seen yourself?

A.

It's always best to witness or hear something with your own eyes and ears, but this is not always possible. Reconstruction becomes a necessary element of our reporting and writing. Inoculate yourself by reporting from every angle. Use all available documents, data, video, audio, photographs, etc. Plenty of brilliant historical books have been written decades after the events. I'm thinking of Robert Caro's work on President Lyndon Johnson. As a reader, I feel confident that Caro exhausted every scrap of information out there to bring us one truth, maybe the truth, of LBJ.

Q.

What's your opinion on using dialogue you haven't heard yourself?

A.

Paraphrasing is often the safest option, and then making clear where the information came from. This can be done by saying, "so-and-so recalled" or "the way so-and-so remembered." Pure dialogue is always ideal, but if you're reconstructing, the use of quotes suggests that you heard every word and are relaying them exactly for the reader. If you use quotes, the words in between those quotes better be exact. Can you guarantee they are?

Q.

How many sources should one use in reconstructing scenes and dialogue?

A.

Talk to as many people as possible. Of course, this can raise problems, because if you interview four different people, they can remember a scene or moment from four different perspectives. But there is no such thing as gathering too much information. The tricky part is what to use, and how to suggest to the reader where the information came from. It's always best to witness something with your own eyes, but this is not always possible. Reconstruction becomes a necessary element of our reporting and writing. Inoculate yourself by reporting from every angle.