The Trauma Spectrum: How Much Is Too Much, Or Not Quite Enough, In Podcasts

The Goldilocks principle applied to four series: The Idiot, Who Blew Up the Guidestones, Foundling and Adults in the Room

Narrative podcasting is no stranger to the trauma plot. Often we see a normalization of trauma, and we are left to consider how it surrounds us. Trauma is used so frequently one could wonder if it’s required to make good audio. However, trauma creates tension, it can be carefully unravelled to reveal a surprising ending, and it certainly has the ability to shock listeners into caring….three hallmarks of a good narrative plot. But…is it necessary?

This month four different series caught my attention. They all seemed to scratch at the same door: trauma. The Idiot, Who Blew Up the Guidestones, Foundling and Adults in the Room all left me wondering if there’s an acceptable threshold for trauma in shows. But more…it also got me wondering if trauma has become the story? Have we forgotten to look at the people behind these trauma plots? What happens when we look at them more closely?

Maybe this is why I’m thinking about this…

I recently finished the book Hymn to Life, the memoir from Gisèle Pelicot. Pelicot became an international symbol for strength and courage after her mass-rape trial in France that stunned the world. The book is many things (and also, a lack of things), but my uncritical takeaway is her incredible ability to be resilient in the face of the unfathomable trauma she endured. For me, reading this book was an act of solidarity. After she unwittingly offered herself over to the world as a symbol, I could at least buy her book in hardback, with the hope that she sees a few euros as a result and help her to get on with her complicated life (after the book tour is over, that is).

Her story is an outlier, an important fact to hold close. But the act of reading it coloured my thoughts, and also reminded me how much I appreciate a series where no one is raped or murdered…foremost because that’s almost always a woman. Secondarily, because this triangle arc of a story: birth-trauma-death, or live-sin-die, or birth-accident-death, is so typically the case with narrative podcasts.

Who Blew Up The Guidestones is a Southern Gothic tale that centres around a small town in rural Georgia, where someone secretly commissioned scripture-like verses to be engraved on giant granite stones and then had them covertly installed in a cow pasture. The idea, I suppose, was to immortalize his ideas and inspire others to adhere to these maxims. As a side-hustle, they also became a lively local tourist attraction, with people flocking from far and wide, either to pay homage to them, or just to marvel at their audaciousness, like other giant monuments, the Wawa Goose, or the Paul Bunyan Statue.

If Goldilocks were making the assessment of how much trauma there was in this series, she might say “not enough;” but that’s exactly what I loved and appreciated about this series. No one is hurt, a mystery is solved, a truth gets uncovered…in that way it was perfect.

The inscriptions on the Guidestones begin gentle, a protect the Earth sort-of-vibe. And while the messages begin with lovely deep-ecology ideas, they transit so far to the left they go around the corner to become far-right ideologies. Take for example the eugenics-inspired idea to maintain a maximum human population at 500 million (which tacitly means holocaust, given that we are already well-past the stated population goal).

The subtext of the series, and focus of the investigative journalism, seeks to answer is to consider that given how far-ranging the messages on the Guidestones become, do they also advocate violence? Could their action of making these a public amenity be considered a hate-crime? And if we start there, does the act of uncovering the identity of the person who paid for these stones become more pressing? And then, to answer the question of the series, who blew them up…what was their motive? And is it also cause for concern?

Were they just ideas, expensively etched in stone…or are they the start of something much darker?

Many of the clues lead to answers by the end of the series, and they serve as a satisfying conclusion, albeit some of the answers were couched in thoroughly vetted phrases that must have gone through legal to avoid litigation.

This series exposes how dependent modern mythology is on conspiracy theories. Take the MAHA movement, whose critical mineral is hippie ideology; but when the details get examined they become something else altogether. This transit to an alt-right agenda is facilitated by conspiracy theories…the place where facts don’t have solid footing and details can shape shift to be what people say they are, facts and data are secondary.

The life cycle of the Guidestones are a case study of this concept.

WHERE THIS SERIES DIDN’T WORK: In the opening credits the host of the story, who is also the reporter and journalist, Tyler McBrien, says an on-air “thank you” to the AJC, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the news organization that published this series. It does seem notable that the AJC agreed to fund this show—their masthead lists only four podcasts in total, this one being the only one-off serialized narrative show. So, yes, I can appreciate that this was a stretch, and I hope their investment paid off (Tribeca spotlight forthcoming included). But to thank your publisher, in the opening minutes of a show, was a big turn off. In the final credits it would have made sense…but off the top it drained credibility and made it feel a bit desperate, like a teenager justifying a Visa charge for a fancy dress. I let this one go and overall happy that I stuck with this solidly-researched, compelling story.

Foundling tells the story of the baby “Heather” abandoned at birth and then found in a remote laneway in Suffolk, UK, in 1987. This story framed the childhood of audio journalist Lucy Greenwell, so she convened her sisters to sit down and try to recall the facts of this local mystery, before Greenwell set off to find both the child and the mother.

“Foundlings” are abandoned babies that survive. More often these cases become criminal…newborns cannot survive more than a few hours after they are abandoned. “Heather” was born that day, and “found” by a local nanny of this rural area. The TV newscaster claimed it was miracle that she was discovered, almost immediately, in this out-of-the-way spot. The town filled with gossip, and many theories were whispered for years, especially regarding the local nannies—just like the one who discovered this baby. But no one came forward, and no one was charged. It became a cold case that went on the shelf with the other unsolved crimes.

If Goldilocks were evaluating this series, she might say: “Too hot!” There were many moments in this series that felt so raw and vulnerable they still had blood oozing from them. Greenwell found “Heather,” who was later renamed “Jess” by her adoptive family (and went on to live a happy and healthy life and now has kids of her own), right as Jess was re-traumatized with a new sense of abandonment. Greenwell does well to talk through this honestly, if awkwardly.

This event was so unusual for this small town that nearly 40 years later when Greenwell went back to try to find Jess again, there were still hushed whispers about who the birth mother was. Jess always knew she was adopted, and by the time she was 11-years-old, she had begun to learn the truth about her birth mother. This meant that Jess had already spent decades piecing her origin story before a journalist landed on her doorstep, fascinated with her origin story.

The pair of them, journalist and “Jess,” form an investigative team of sorts. Greenwell reports her investigative work, while “Jess” provides context and emotional realism. Both want a resolution to the story, but what makes it a bit “hot” is that their conclusions are a bit at odds. Jess wants reconciliation, or perhaps to send a message to her wider birth family; Greenwell wants to be a balanced journalist, which means that all parties need to have a chance to explain themselves. But that’s a tidy conclusion, some kind of happy reunion story that’s better suited for television drama. This is investigative journalism. And it’s hard to punch the ghosts without bruising your knuckles.

It becomes a twisty turny plot that’s able to both pull your heart strings and then snaps and frays them at the same time. This is not an easy story to manage. There were moments when I said to myself…how can she keep going on throughout this? The journalism was ethical and transparent in the very BBC-like way; but what I saw emerging here was something of a symbiotic relationship.

But here’s where I wondered if it was too hot. I’m not an adoptee myself; but given how raw and layered this story is, I wondered if listening to this as someone from an adoptive family, or as someone who was abandoned at birth, listening to this series might be incredibly triggering for them.

But this series did not offer any kind of trigger warning. No discussion at the top or the bottom of any episode that might steer someone shaken by the series about where to go for help. Then again, where would one go?

I thought this was curious so I started to dig into the policy framework at news organizations about when trigger warnings are put in front of listeners.

The most common one that you hear is for suicide and self-harm. Trigger warnings range from the generic: “Listen with care,” and then generally a local phone number is offered to receive more help if needed. These guidelines are clearly delineated by The Samaritans in the UK, and more broadly, the WHO has a resource for media professionals reporting on suicide which news organizations worldwide call on.

It’s not just virtue-signalling, there is ample evidence to support this in psychological research. There’s a body of research about how the “Werther Effect” can cause suicide and self-harm amongst vulnerable people after listening to media that portrays these events.

But what about this type of story? The kind that can reignite trauma after you hear it, should you be in that vulnerable population. In a way, Greenwell tries to head off these questions by questioning her own role in the story, about whether or not she’s helping or harming Jess by including her in an investigation into her life that found things that Jess may never have pieced together.

Is there a way to give fair warning for a story that might unravel an individual adoptee or foundling? Would it be reasonable to suggest that if you are that person, listening to a story told like this, one that is constructed for the listening pleasure of an audience with many emotional peaks and valleys, it could potentially undo them? Perhaps an honest follow up on how Jess is doing, now that this series is out in the world, is a reasonable ask.

The Idiot, from the NYTimes/Serial, is written and hosted by a NYTimes Opinion columnist, M. Gessen. Honestly, they’re a great writer (and were just awarded a Pulitzer this year). But as a podcast host? I wasn’t immediately convinced. Their voice is so dry and flat-delivered that the sound design nestled around their voice is crucial towards giving it some texture and relief.

If Goldilocks were considering this show for its trauma plot, she might say: just right. There’s plenty of trauma to go around (in particular for the children involved who are skillfully only referred to with an initial), but it never gets carried away. The despicable murder plot was busted before it was realized, and there was just enough trauma to provide character, but not so much that lives were ruined.

The Idiot tells the almost-absurd story of Gessen’s first-cousin’s abduction of his own child, and then failed murder-for-hire plot against his wife, which, after an international manhunt, would land him in jail for a decade. And also how Gessen’s family was unknowingly complicit in the whole thing for a time.

The title, The Idiot, trades faces throughout the series. You will feel taken-along-by Gessen, whom you can see was actually taken, swindled, by the cousin, because they wanted to think the cousin is better than he appears, given that he’s a blood relative. It’s a storyline of a redemption arc that makes the conscious decision not to redeem the person, while also being transparent about how they were almost extended him redemption, which was brave to be honest about.

The NYTimes has an embarrassment of riches when it comes to good writers, hosts and producers. Despite the fact that many of the same folks who kicked off this entire industry (and genre of storytelling) hold offices in that institution, they aren’t greedy with the microphone. Ira Glass, Julie Snyder, Sarah Koenig…all folks who have been there since the beginning, all get writing and editing credits (both on this work and many other series produced by this gang). And yet, they also seem to be continually supporting new voices to come out and host a show (M. Gessen being the recent example here…in the past it’s been Kim Barker, or Dyan Neary and others).

I can only imagine these otherwise print-writers go through extensive training and support to pull off these productions. It would be wrong to have some other high profile host narrate the personal family of another NYTimes journalist; I appreciate that the OG producers don’t require themselves to narrate every story, and that they are committed to widening the gene pool of this industry.

In the end, I give M. Gessen a solid 5/10 for the hosting job of The Idiot. The story itself is rather captivating, and five episodes was the outside edge of reasonable length, as it sputtered towards a conclusion you could see a mile out.

The script is steeped in Greek tragedy, the Antigone debate specifically: is blood stronger than the law? We watch Gessen stumble through their feelings about towards their cousin Ian, despite the horrendous things he attempted. Or should we feel compassion for this idiot, who failed at many things, including being a criminal. In the question of whether Ian is truly terrible, and blood-be-damned, Gessen comes out on the side of the public. Blood is not thick enough to choke off reason here.

BUT WAIT….There’s a fourth series…what does Goldilocks say about this one?

Adults in the Room is a chilling series from the get go. Two high school friends come together to try to make sense of their horrendous senior year, when they were essentially blamed for the suicide of one of their teachers. This after they made the choice to report on an abuse allegation in the school newspaper. Years later they wondered if their lasting guilt was justified; what they discovered was something far worse.

Goldilocks has nothing to say about this series, because she’s the whistleblower. She’s the one in there ready to call them all out on it: too cold, too hot, just right. Goldilocks is there to heed the warning.

This series comes with a trigger warning—for the obvious things—sexual abuse, self-harm. But there’s another more general warning for this series that I might suggest: for all GenXers who went through high school in the 1990s, when this sort of brazen exploitation of minors took place inside schools and institutions in a way that was known or tacitly recognized. In some cases, it was celebrated in a roundabout way.

I wish I was gobsmacked with the facts of the case: that school administration knew and did nothing, that parents had complained and been shunted off to the side with reams of paper work, that other faculty were complicit. All the while these predatory teachers were shuffled around from district to district, barely sanctioned, let alone punished.

But the fact is, I’m a GenXer who also lived this, and while the facts of my high school rack up a bit differently than this one, in many ways they are no less tragic.

Meanwhile, during these decades that went unchecked for power and corruption, the patterns of abuse escalated, as is common in the psychological profile of an abuser. What begins small grows into acts more and more brazen. When the system does not call them out, the abuse continues. They adapt and learn how to get away with their crimes; the system teaches them to do this. If it wasn’t entirely celebrated, it was condoned through a few nods and wink-nudging, where someone undoubtedly said: “Don’t worry man, we’ve got your back.”

This era of high school would pave the road all the way to the #MeToo movement. And as we continue, it’s hard not to see echoes of Gisèle Pelicot and in a wider sense, Jeffrey Epstein.

The tone of the narrator is a bit clunky, leaning heavily on the public media slow-talking explanatory tone. Maybe we need to walk slowly through this material because it’s so nuts you can’t make this up. But the work that went into this, if we are fully paying attention to what it uncovers, is Pulitzer material.

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NOTES, things and STUFF

• Short Cuts is coming baaaaaack! This is like a dream come true…oh wait, it is a dream come true. And the fact that three public broadcasters joined forces to make this happen?! Crazy good. Submit by July 1.

• Wow, Tribeca is 25 this year…and their programming is HOT. Details coming from the man himself, Davy Gardner. It’s exciting to see the programming expand for narrative podcasts

• HearSay returned this year from far away, it looked like a wonderful, eclectic, creative time. I’ve enjoyed listening to little bits, and also reading the Opening Provocation from Eric Nuzum: A homily for the audio industry

  A homily on today’s audio industry