The First Inquest

Talk about uncomfortable.

There I was - all high and mighty - envisaging myself as a journalist of the highest order, taking on the world with my ideas of justice and sound moral code. Today was the day of 'The First Inquest', that pivotal event when my shorthand practice and sharp news writing skills would culminate in a bedazzling 200-word article of beauty.

My shorthand fell to pieces. I didn't know what information to take down. I could hardly translate what I had back. I couldn't find an 'angle' for the piece. It was a mess.

But, most significantly, it felt wrong. An inquest is a public hearing to determine the cause of an unusual death, where journalists have every right of being there. So why did this 'right' feel so, so wrong? Marilyn, the subject of this particular inquest, suffered from depression and paranoid schizophrenia, had undergone electric shock treatment, a total of 3 failed marriages under her belt, an alcoholic, and victim of domestic violence.
I understand that a journalist should have the privilege of sitting in court, yet I can't help believing that this freedom should not extend to inquests. Ascertaining the cause of a death is not the same as passing judgment on a crime or incident, and following today I feel quite strongly that, unless it is on a matter of public concern, an inquest should be a private affair between those that are directly involved.