Identifying Juvenile Suspects   

In Dayton, Ohio, on a March afternoon, two 14-year-old girls exchanged heated words. Minutes later, one stabbed the other several times in the neck. The victim died on the way to the hospital.

Without hesitating, the Dayton Daily News printed the alleged killer's name, despite her age. Explains Metro Editor Martha Steffans, "We've had this happen so many times with juveniles that we believe, 'You take a life, you get named in the newspaper.' "

In years past, it would have been unthinkable to identify a child charged with any crime, serious or not. Minors, it was argued, had a better chance of rehabilitation if they weren't stigmatized. But today, as more juveniles kill, rape and rob, news managers seem to have a much less difficult time naming them.

If a child is tried as an adult, there's usually little debate over naming names. But more outlets are also identifying suspects tried as juveniles when the community has heard a lot about the crime, when it's particularly vicious or when the accused comes from a prominent family.

"Now it's more the rule than the exception that we print their names" with serious crimes, explains Tim Gallagher, editor of the Albuquerque Tribune. If the child is under 14, the editors will consider withholding the name, he says.

Last month, the New York Times, which in the past usually has not named juvenile suspects, ran a four-part series on children and violent crime in which the paper identified the young criminals with whom it spoke. On one morning, the cherubic face of 11-year-old Jacob Gonzales, who pleaded guilty to an armed robbery during which a 14-year-old shot a woman to death, greeted readers above the fold on page one; on another, the Times detailed the case of convicted murerer Shaul Linyear, 16, and printed numerous snapshots provided by his family.

"We don't have a written policy" about naming young offenders, says Times Assistant Managing Editor Allan M. Siegel, who like many editors says his paper considers each case independently, focusing on the seriousness of the crime and the suspect's age. "For the series, we had a lot of contacts with lawyers and families and they expressed no reluctance to have the kids identified."

Some journalists argue that naming juvenile suspects helps put a human face on violence. They also say it contributes to public safety by reminding readers and listeners that kids can sometimes be just as dangerous as adults.

"[Youth] crimes used to be easily dismissed as dumb mistakes," says Paul McMasters, president of the Society of Professional Journalists. "But when a child guns down one or two people, rapes somebody or stabs them, it can't be dismissed any more as a dumb mistake. Some people say the child deserves to live with it the rest of his life."

In many states, it is a crime for law officers or court employees to release the names of minors accused or convicted of crimes--but not for reporters to print or broadcast them (often, relatives or friends will provide the identification).

In Dayton, Steffans says the Daily News prints names with the encouragement of the legal community. The city's top juvenile judge, she says, felt minors "were spinning out of control and that people wanted to know who these people are."

That's not to say editors don't still struggle with the issue. In San Jose, when three teenagers were accused in 1992 of hacking an eight-year-old to death, the Mercury News immediately named them. Other cases have not been so easy.

A year ago, a 15-year-old girl was tried as a juvenile and convicted of smothering her four-year-old half-sister. The Mercury News printed her name. But months later, when the conviction was overturned, editors decided not to name her. Instead, the story included a disclaimer saying the paper wasn't identifying the girl because of her age.

"We had quite a bit of internal debate on it," says Michael Collier, the assistant Alameda County bureau chief. "The agreement was that because of the nature of the crime, because of the conviction and because it was a high-profile case, we named her. Then we unnamed her. That was really awkward. There was the issue of fairness, especially with the family."

"It was a bizarre case," concedes Deputy Managing Editor Bob Ryan. "It really points out some of the difficulties of trying to balance the need to inform against the need to protect."