Lingual injury

Abstract

This qualitative, phenomenological study conducted in Israel consisted of interviews with 14 close relatives of murder victims whose cases generated media interest. The research offers a comprehensive view of the endeavors of the participants to be heard in both the criminal justice system and the media. The findings indicate that despite the growing recognition of co-victims’ rights and media attention to their narratives, both the justice system and the media disappoint these victims and largely fail to respond to their need to convey their messages. The participants experienced ‘lingual injury:’ the repudiation and muting of their own language in favor of professional jargon. Lingual injury is an innovative concept that describes particular aspects of secondary victimization; it contributes to the existing literature by enabling a detailed mapping of co-victims’ simultaneous difficulties in the interplay between the criminal justice system and the media. It highlights the need for developing professional tools, both legal and victimological, to alleviate this situation.

Keywords

Co-victims criminal justice system homicide victims media victimization

Introduction

Secondary victimization is a key concept in victimology, a field of growing importance. Within this field, there is an expanding body of research centered on co-victims, that is, family members of murder victims. It is generally agreed that co-victims should be treated with consideration and respect (Van Dijk, 2014), but co-victims, like victims of crime, often experience the various systems they encounter after victimization as harmful and lacking respect (e.g. Svensson, 2007; Van Wijk et al., 2016). These include the criminal justice system (CJS) and the media, both powerful systems whose harmful impact on victims has been studied (e.g. Gekoski et al., 2013; Groenhuijsen and Letschert, 2014). However, the interactions of co-victims with these two systems, which are often concurrent, and their combined contribution to secondary victimization have not yet been researched. Against this background, the purpose of this research was to assess the complex, often simultaneous interaction with both the CJS and the media as experienced by co-victims of homicide.¹

Research has documented the severe impact of homicide on co-victims. The effects are both long- and short-term, and cover all aspects of life—psychological, physical, and functional (Connolly and Gordon, 2015; Van Wijk et al., 2016; Walters, 2015). Furthermore, co-victims have been found to perceive themselves as direct victims of crime (Yanay, 2005). As such, they may well constitute a unique sub-category in the study of the impact of crime and of the CJS, as reflected in often-used terms such as ‘survivors of homicide’ or ‘murder survivors’ (Connolly and Gordon, 2015; Walters, 2015). These expressions reflect the finality of homicide compared with other crimes in that the direct victim is absent (Kay, 2006). In the current study, we focused on co-victims who were close relatives of murder victims; as such, they suffered from severe trauma and, in the absence of the direct victim, were left to take their place in the legal proceedings. Therefore, it was beyond the scope of the present study to compare the participants (co-victims of homicide) with the immediate victims. Nevertheless, a certain similarity to the plight of victims in the CJS may be cautiously hypothesized due to the difficulties they faced, as is consistently shown by research (Connolly and Gordon, 2015; Van Wijk et al., 2016). In several countries, victims’ rights laws recognize this position and transfer victims’ rights to family members in homicide cases (e.g. CVRA, 2004). Thus, without suggesting that their plight is identical to that of direct victims, in this research we analyzed the experience of co-victims in the light of studies that focused specifically on co-victims, as well as research on victims.

The demands of crime victims to be heard and recognized by both the CJS and the mass media are intertwined (Greer, 2007; Rentschler, 2007; Walklate, 2009). The link between the legal and media discourses stems from long-term processes that have empowered the role of the media and its spillover effects on social institutions, including the legal community (Peleg and Bogoch, 2012). Thus, it has been more important for social actors and institutions, including co-victims, to use the media to reach larger groups in society, in order to voice concerns and promote their interests. In this research, we combine legal theories with knowledge of victimology and of the media to create an analytical framework to examine the implications of the co-victims’ dual efforts to communicate their concerns concurrently in the legal system and the media.

The voice of victims in the criminal justice system

It is widely accepted that victims deserve to be heard by CJS officials. Theoretical support for this argument may be divided into two categories. The first is a utilitarian rationale, that emphasizes the unique position of the victim as the provider of relevant information (Lamborn, 1987–8). The second category includes substantive arguments in recognition of the intrinsic value of the victims’ voice (Beloof, 1999a, 2007). In addition, procedural justice theory proposes both objective and subjective reasons for the participation of victims, as it reinforces the legitimacy of the legal process and increases the satisfaction of the participants (Lind and Tyler, 1988; Solum, 2004).

In the background is a developing acknowledgement of the human dignity of victims, reflected, for example, in the 1985 UN Declaration on Basic Principles of Justice for Victims of Crime and Abuse of Power (Waller, 2014). From the perspective of legal theory, when the dignity of victims is impaired not only by the crime, but also by overlooking their concerns, a procedural right to be heard by the authorities should be available (Dancig-Rosenberg and Pugach, 2014). Arguments in favor of victims’ participation in the criminal process are further augmented by a growing recognition of the duty of the state toward victims, which includes a duty to treat victims with respect in order to prevent secondary victimization (Kirchhoff, 2010), and may even include a preliminary duty to protect citizens against offenses (Dancig-Rosenberg and Pugach, 2014).

Another group of theories has supported victim participation based on its contribution to a positive effect of the legal process on all its recipients (Kilpatrick and Otto, 1987–8; Ben-David, 2000). More recently, therapeutic jurisprudence literature introduced the assessment of proceedings according to their impact on the participants as a core value (Erez et al., 2011). Wellbeing, rehabilitation and recovery of the participants during the legal proceedings have become central (Gal and Wexler, 2015; Dancig-Rosenberg and Pugach, 2015). Indeed, research has shown that victims may consider communication with law enforcement as crucial, among other things, to the processes of sense-making and giving meaning to experience (Stretesky et al., 2010).

Expressive theory is of particular importance as a normative basis for this research. According to this theory, the legal process is seen as an intricate exchange of messages with the CJS itself (Kahan, 1998), or among all relevant parties (DeFord, 2005). The victims’ participation in the CJS is an opportunity for them to convey their messages and a system that enables this empowers and vindicates the victims (Bibas, 2012; Dancig-Rosenberg and Pugach, 2012; Roberts and Erez, 2010; Whiteley, 1998). This communication benefits many different parties, including the CJS, the defendant, the community, and the victims themselves. Therefore, expressive theory may enrich the examination of communication and expression, as in the current study.

Against the background of these justifications for and the positive effects of victims’ participation stands a crucial notion for the present research, that of secondary victimization (Kirchhoff, 2010). This term generally refers to the negative experiences of crime victims caused by the behaviors and attitudes of social service providers (Symonds, 1975; Williams, 1984). Research has identified many forms of secondary victimization throughout the years (e.g. Svensson, 2007). Some of these studies lend support to the notion of victim participation. For example, Christie (1977) cited benefits that victims derive from participating in the criminal justice process, especially with regard to personalized encounters. Christie portrayed victims who did not participate as ‘double losers’, suffering from the offence and also from the denial of the right to participate in the justice system, thus robbing them of ‘their’ conflict. This centrality of the voice is at the core of this study.

Since the mid-1980s, this understanding has led to legal reforms that increase the rights of participation of victims (Beloof, 1999b, 2005; Lamborn, 1987–8; Sebba, 2000). As in many other adversarial CJSs, in Israel, victims do not have the right to speak in court (Beloof and Pugach, 2014; Fletcher, 1995; Shapland and Hall, 2010). By law, including the Crime Victims Act of 2001, victims of serious offences have the right to be informed about proceedings, the right to confer with the prosecutor and to express a view regarding a plea agreement, and the right to submit a written victim personal statement.

The increasing focus on victims in the criminal justice process is linked to the growing willingness of media professionals to provide a channel for their expression of feelings of offense and suffering in response to crime (Walklate, 2009).

The victims’ voice in the media

One key concept in understanding the role that the media plays in social spheres is mediatization (Schulz, 2004; Strömbäck, 2008; Strömbäck and Esser, 2014), that is, the evolution of the influence of the media on social institutions and individual actors (Hjarvard, 2008; Kepplinger, 2002; Mazzoleni and Schulz, 1999). Scholars of mediatization have discussed how individual politicians and political institutions perceive the logic of commercial media, and adapt their behavior and messages to its production practices and presentation formats. However, the judicial branch is ostensibly less vulnerable to mediatization than other political spheres given that the principle of judicial independence requires judges to ignore public opinion (Bybee, 2007). Moreover, as Peleg and Bogoch (2012) have pointed out, there is a distinct difference between the ‘media logic’—the process by which the media presents and conveys information (Altheide and Snow, 1991)—and the logic of the law. The law requires in-depth rational analysis of evidence; in comparison, media vocabulary and formats favor quick reports characterized by superficiality. The legal language is usually obscure to all but the professional audience; the mass media offers simplicity and drama (Fox et al., 2007; Haltom, 1998; Jewkes, 2004). The law seeks to resolve conflicts, but the media seeks to accentuate them.

These differences would seem to undermine the possibility of the mediatization of the legal sphere, but this assumption has been proven wrong. It appears that the process of mediatization has changed the practices of both judges and lawyers, and the professionals in the legal system are ascribing increasing importance to the response of the media to their actions and decision-making processes (Peleg and Bogoch, 2012). However, in spite of the media’s focus on co- victims (Marsh and Melville, 2009; Reiner et al., 2000; Rentschler, 2007; Wardle, 2007), and media campaigns by victims for recognition, we were unable to find any studies that evaluated how crime victims perceive the impact of the mediatization of the legal sphere on their legal battles.

The current prominence of crime victims in the media is one of the most significant qualitative changes in media representations of crime and control since the Second World War (Reiner, 2003). In the media perception, victims can be those affected either directly or indirectly by crime. If the direct victims are dead, their family members are often portrayed as victims (Marsh and Melville, 2009). Recent studies have offered different explanations for the empowerment of crime victims in the media. An extensive body of literature has examined the various criteria that make events attractive or ‘newsworthy’ to journalists (Galtung and Ruge, 1965; Greer, 2007; Jewkes, 2004). Violent crimes, murder in particular, stimulate media coverage. However, the gravity of the crime is not the sole parameter for intensive coverage. Additional factors include other crimes that coincide with the primary event and emotional narratives, as well as the socio-demographic profiles of the victim and perpetrator, and the willingness of informants to cooperate with the media (Chermak, 1995; Greer, 2007; Kohm, 2009).

Samet (2011) argued that since the press provides an extra-legal court of appeal, many, including crime victims, contact the media after they have exhausted the formal channels. Indeed, socio-legal and media literature has identified the process of ‘trial by media’ (Fox et al., 2007; Greer and McLaughlin, 2012), which is characterized by the judgmental position taken by the media with respect to the guilt or innocence of the defendants. In trials by media, the legal actors direct their persuasive strategies to the public at large, as well as the courts. In addition, they often work together with public relations professionals.

Greer (2007) argued that the increasing importance of visual representations of crime in the age of information enhances the overall influence of victims on news audiences. Indeed, it is almost expected that families of murder victims—co-victims—will express their emotions, and share their pain and suffering with the media (Spungen, 1998). Press conferences have become a norm and even more powerful are the photographs of crime victims, that humanize them and add an aspect of reality to a crime that might otherwise remain abstract (Doyle, 2005).

With respect to the perspective of the co-victims, Barak-Brandes and Shaul (2014) describe a duality in their attitudes toward the media. They found that co-victims acknowledged the media’s value and significance to their life after the disaster, but also seemed to perceive the media as a necessary evil and a dysfunctional element. Dannemiller (2002) asserts that public response emerged as the most troublesome issue for the parents of a murdered child, because media attention on a child’s murder escalates into a form of entertainment. Groenhuijsen and Letschert (2014) warned that the mass media can be offensive to crime victims, leading to secondary victimization. The authors suggest that examples of harmful media practices include forcing victims to give interviews, revealing unpleasant or intimate details about them, and blaming them for their own victimization.

Along these lines, Connolly and Gordon (2015) cited previous studies that found highly graphic media coverage of the victim’s death and trial negatively affected the family’s ability to grieve. Dawson and Riches (1998) and Adkins (2003) asserted that sensational reporting can make the details of a homicide seem worse than they really were or construct a negative portrait of the deceased family members by questioning their moral fiber. These authors also warned against the media practice of publicizing a murder case without notifying family members of their intention to do so and repeatedly screening footage of the crime scene. They argued that these media practices rendered survivors less able to shift their focus from the events surrounding the murder to more pleasant recollections of the loved one’s life, adding to family distress. It appears that the media also contribute to the alienation of co-victims from their social environment, by adding to their sense of being socially stigmatized because their loved ones died as the result of a crime (Van Wijk et al., 2016).

Based on this unstable relationship with the media, and the offence it may cause versus the need of victims to use the media, the purpose of the present research was to study how victims experience the simultaneous interaction between the criminal justice system and the media. There are very few studies of crime-related news in Israel and no specific study of the coverage of murder cases has been published to date. The question we attempted to answer was: ‘How (if at all), according to the subjective perceptions of co-victims, are their individual voices heard in these powerful and influential systems?’ In addition, we evaluated the ways in which the co-victims conveyed their messages, the emotional toll of their engagements with both systems, and whether the media served as a substitute when the co-victims felt that the criminal justice system was failing them.

Method

The current study was based on a qualitative-constructivist method (Shkedi, 2011); it investigated the subjective perceptions of co-victims with respect to their complex relationships with the courts and the media. The research was guided by the approach that Saponaro (2014) referred to as ‘interpretive victimology’, which focuses ‘on the meaning of social action and how it is produced and reproduced in the interactions between individuals and within groups, while emphasizing the social construction of reality’ (Saponaro, 2014: 417). Following the phenomenological tradition (e.g. Husserl, 1952; Polkinghorne, 1989; Van Menen, 1997) and in order to obtain a full impression of the subjective perceptions of the research participants, we refrained from hypothesizing about their perceptions.

Participants

The participants were eight women and six men from Israel who had experienced the murder of a close family member—a son, a daughter, parents, or a wife. All the murders were classified as ‘criminal’ and not as ‘terror-related’. Israeli police statistics recorded 110 criminal murder cases in 2014, 2.4 murder cases to every 100,000 people (Israeli Police Yearly Statistics). The participants’ ages ranged from 30 to 66 (mean 48.64). Six of the participants were the parents of the deceased, four were children, two were spouses, one was a sibling, and one was an ex-spouse. In three cases (including four participants²), the offender was a family member; in three cases, the offender had a prior non-criminal acquaintance with the victim and the co-victims; and in seven cases, the perpetrator was a stranger. The time that had passed from the murder of their loved one ranged from 3 to 18 years (mean 7.92). None of the interviewees worked in the media, or in any legal agency or capacity. All the interviews were conducted in Hebrew and translated into English, and included an attempt to translate incorrect grammar and use of language.

Instruments and procedure

All the research participants were recruited based on their prior acquaintance with the Noga Center, a non-profit organization that provides legal counseling for victims of serious crime. During the years 2004–2011, the Noga Center was the only legal assistance agency for homicide co-victims in Israel. As a result, many co-victims made use of its services, especially before the government began providing such assistance in 2011. The center had helped two of the interviewees in later stages of the criminal process, after the verdict had been delivered. One participant was represented at a very late stage, concerning the perpetrator’s parole and early release. Eight participants were represented throughout the trial, but only after charges had been brought. Three participants were not represented by Noga lawyers at any stage. Thus, all the research participants had experienced at least the immediate aftermath of the murder until charges were brought, without any legal assistance. None of the participants knew their interviewers.

The main research tool was an in-depth semi-structured interview, administered with the help of an interview guide that was created for this study. The participants decided on the location of the interviews; most chose their homes and a few preferred public places (such as cafés). The interviews lasted about 90 to 120 min. All the participants signed an informed consent before the interview. Their anonymity was strictly maintained, only pseudonyms are used, and since some of the narratives are well known in Israel, we have avoided providing details. All interviews but one (due to technical reasons) were recorded and transcribed.

To analyze the data, we first read the interviews carefully and then created the relevant categories of meaning. Later we held discussions to weigh the different categories and cluster them in larger themes of meaning, as presented below. During this process, we went back and forth from the raw data to our themes and subthemes, discussed them, and agreed on accurate meanings. Throughout this process, we preserved the scientific standard of the results (validity and reliability). We have included an extensive description of the data, with direct quotes from the participants.

Results

The analysis of the data indicated that both the CJS and the media created similar difficulties for the research participants. The findings are presented here according to three themes: (a) the concurrent stresses regarding the two systems during police investigations and first encounters with the CJS; (b) the strains on co-victims during the trial; and (c) the overall assessment of the co-victims regarding the relationship between the CJS and the media, as well as their views on possible remedies to these pressures.

The stress of co-victims during police investigations and first encounters with the CJS

A common theme that several participants raised was the lack of sufficient information provided by the CJS authorities, regarding both the specific proceedings and the general mechanisms of the system. This was particularly striking in light of widespread recognition of the importance of information to victims (Beloof, 2005; Carr et al., 2003; Dancig-Rosenberg and Pugach, 2015). One of our interviewees (Helen) learned about the trial of her daughter’s murderer from a local newspaper: ‘We met the prosecutor and she told us that they intended to charge the guy. And then I was horrified. I came to the local grocery shop, and the headline of the local paper read: “The trial of the murder of xxx began yesterday”’. This finding is consistent with recent research that found similar grievances among Dutch co-victims (Van Wijk, et al., 2016); further research may confirm that in this respect, co-victims experience a similar plight to that of victims.

Several participants described how they were treated disrespectfully when they asked prosecutors for explanations about not having been notified at different stages of the legal proceedings, and it led to concerns about future developments.

Most of the cases reviewed were tried after the enactment of the 2001 Victims’ Rights Law, which provides a right of notification (Beloof and Pugach, 2014). However—even though a few of the participants mentioned their statutory rights to information—it seems that the more complex information about their rights, beyond the court dates, had not been provided to them. The option to obtain information via the internet or by phone, using a code, was similarly criticized. According to the research participants, this system proved inaccurate and difficult to access, even for the more educated victims. Jacob, who worked as a software engineer, said: ‘Eventually, we learned how to use it, but the information was not really up-to-date’.

The interviews clearly indicated that the co-victims who were represented and those who were more capable than the others, found it easier to obtain information. However, they too had to make an effort. Susan, who was satisfied with the way the prosecution kept her updated, was also represented: ‘[The prosecutor] was so attentive, and, together with [a Noga lawyer] who accompanied us, she explained things to us. We always felt that we were participants’. The less capable co-victims, those who were less eloquent, had to resort to other ways of keeping informed. The interviewees also expressed frustration with their lack of familiarity with the legal concepts and therefore felt alienated and unable to express to express the magnitude of their loss: ‘A person who does not understand the mechanism of justice cannot understand this. We did not understand the way the system worked…Victims are normative people who are not connected in any way to any of these things, and suddenly they are thrown into this unfamiliar world’ (Ben). It seems that Ben was trying to differentiate between the co-victims and the defendants, who he suggested were more knowledgeable about the CJS. Using the terms of expressive theory, which views the criminal justice system as an intricate mechanism of cross messages, in this case only three of the four major players (prosecution, defense, judge, and victim) were able to communicate their messages.

While trying to comprehend the new legal notions, the participants had also encountered another new language, that of the media, which had entered their life immediately after the tragedy. The interviewees showed different approaches to involvement in the media coverage in the early stages of their loss. Some used the media as a channel for self-expression, but others were consistently reluctant to cooperate. A few, like Michal, who realized that ‘the trial was led in two parallel arenas—the media and the court’ changed their minds in the course of the legal proceedings. Those interviewees who were media-active considered participation in media interviews as both a private and a social calling, an opportunity to present the true voice of the deceased. At times, this sense of mission led them into battle against the often misguided and ill-informed news accounts of their murdered relatives.

Several of the research participants claimed that they had granted interviews shortly after their loss out of an urge to protect the dignity and the reputation of the murder victim in the public eye, despite the criminal circumstances of the death. After initially refusing, Michal decided to cooperate with the media, in order to do her murdered parents justice:

My parents were very private people. They were normal and normative. Nobody had ever heard about them in the media, and the first time they actually became famous was in a criminal context. I wanted to disconnect them from the crime section of the news.

Daniel considered the media interviews as a way of honoring his deceased daughter and a vehicle for arousing empathy for the entire family:

The interviews are a way of commemoration…Whenever they showed my daughter’s photograph on television, I felt satisfied, as it meant that people thought of her and of me with sympathy, and maybe they even identified with my suffering.

Other participants contradicted this interpretation, claiming that the criminal context of the victims’ mediatized voice paid no tribute to their dear ones. For example:

Media interviews are not a way of commemorating my daughter. I issued a booklet in her memory and handed it out to our relatives. In addition, I created a Facebook page…we did not mention or discuss her death. Instead, we focused on her outstanding accomplishments during her short life. (Helen).

Some of the participants resented the blurred line between the news and entertainment in the contemporary media accounts of crime (Cavender, 2004), and were deeply offended by the media’s humoristic attitude towards criminals. Dina said that she felt:

simply nauseated…The media presented my daughter’s murderers as the local ‘Cosa Nostra’…I understand that money and ratings [control] the media…but how is it that when intellectuals participate in such talk shows, they do not realize that by sitting next to criminals [they] build legendary myths around these murderers…Thus, with their own bare hands, they feed a dragon that will later devour their own children.

The participants also expressed their feelings of pain and anger in similar terms when discussing their subjective experiences in the preliminary stages of the criminal trial and the initial phases of the media trial.

The strains on co-victims during the trial

The high media value ascribed to the killers increased the pain and solitude of the research participants. During the trial, their self-perception as co-victims, due to the impact of their loved ones’ homicides, was further aggravated by a sense of being forgotten by both the legal system and the media. Our interviewees referred to various signs of insensitivity towards them.

Several research participants indicated that the difficulties they experienced prior to the trial became increasingly significant in the course of the proceedings. The legal jargon and logic were seen as signs of an alien world (Bybee, 2007), and the participants recognized the disadvantage of their lack of familiarity. Susan described this: ‘The trial [is] a winding road, a card game, where everyone hides their cards and thinks what the other one has, and we are unfamiliar with it’.

Bitterness and pain were evident in the response of some victims who mocked the legal arena, and considered its rules incomprehensible or superfluous. Daniel said: ‘And then, in the first verdict, when they were acquitted, you learn about “doubt”. What is a doubt? It verges on the absurd’.

The unfamiliar ‘rules of the game’, or the logic of the law, often led to discomfort and even pain. Phil said: ‘The fact that we had to submit a motion and that the other lawyer could object to our presence in the courtroom was surreal’. Several participants repeatedly expressed anger towards the role of defense attorneys. However, participants also expressed an appreciation of the legal logic. Michal said: ‘It was the first time I had ever read a criminal verdict, and I was extremely impressed with the analysis and with the fact that one point after the other created a whole story’.

Interviewees complained about the length of the trial and its complexity, but several described this experience as a process of learning the legal jargon and the logic. Daniel told us: ‘I spent a long time and put a lot of energy into it, because I was interested in understanding what was happening at the deepest level…though I am neither a lawyer nor a jurist’. Some of the participants freely used legal terms, such as verdict, plea agreement, and appeal, but not always correctly; this could contribute to further alienation from the system.

In this respect, as well, victims who had received legal guidance at any stage considered it a significant help. Susan described the value of such assistance:

There was a process of mediation. We did not understand it, and in the beginning, we thought that we wanted to oppose everything. But the prosecutor and the Noga lawyer led us so wonderfully along this terrible road that we considered them as being right.

Consequently, Susan’s family participated in the plea negotiations and did not oppose them.

Research participants strongly expressed their wish to speak in court. It seems that Michal and Eli represented the feelings of many of the interviewees when they said: ‘They may not take it into consideration, but at least let us express our views’ and claimed that listening to the co-victims created ‘the impression that justice is being done’. Their cry was a powerful articulation of procedural justice goals (Wemmers, 2013). However, it seems that the wish had not been granted satisfactorily, directly in the court or indirectly by the prosecution.

These sentiments were particularly strong regarding the procedure for plea agreements, where Israeli law allows victims and co-victims to express their views to the prosecutor (Beloof and Pugach, 2014). Eli recalled:

Usually [the prosecutor] would inform us the previous evening, the day before, but we did not plan [to be available for the court hearing – authors] and were away, so we did not attend the hearing about the plea agreement.

The prosecution’s failure to inform some of the victims led them to harsh feelings—the epitome of secondary victimization: ‘It may have had an effect on the judges, and we were not there. Maybe [the prosecutor] planned it on purpose, so that we would not be there’ (Eli). Furthermore, the prosecutor did not repeat Eli’s crucial reservations in court. These findings are consistent with the literature that emphasizes fair proceedings, namely, not merely a technical opportunity to be heard, but an instrumental one, in line with procedural justice theory (Solum, 2004; Wemmers, 2013).

Interestingly, unlike the findings of previous research that has emphasized the very opportunity to participate in the plea agreement process (Tyler et al., 1996), or the value of a non-instrumental voice (Lind and Tyler, 1988), our participants stressed the end results, and did not find the voicing of concerns a sufficient or adequate opportunity to be heard. Several participants went so far as to suggest that the right to express their opinions only caused them further pain when their views were not accepted. As Eli put it: ‘Why do you need to summon us, say things to us and consult with us?…They’re killing us…Do not call us. Just do as you wish’.

Rivka was a co-victim who felt that she was allowed a voice, perhaps because she succeeded in preventing an unwarranted plea agreement:

I said: ‘With all due respect, let me speak. I may be inarticulate. I did not study the law. I may not be eloquent’…I told [another victim]’s mother all the time: “Why did you agree to the plea agreement?” And she told me, “Rivka, because I am not like you.”

As for participating in the process, even attending the trial was often a difficult experience.

The participants who chose to follow the trial closely emphasized that facing the murderers was their own (difficult) choice, and it took a high toll on their emotional situation. Rachel said that she: ‘still sees this picture’ [of the murderers in court]. Moreover, the co-victims who were also witnesses in court did not find the experience positive or consider it an opportunity to be heard. In Alon’s words: ‘In court, the judges will not allow you to say whatever you wish…they easily tell the witness (me): “Do not talk about that”’. After confronting her father, who had murdered her mother, Gabi said: ‘I tried to [testify in the absence of the murderer], but they did not let me. That was really difficult’. Participants who had avoided meeting the offenders in court could not refrain from watching them in the media.

Those research participants who had cooperated with the media and voiced their grief described being hurt and upset by sensational and empathy-inducing interviews with murderers. Rita was devastated by an interview with the murderer:

[I] saw an interview with ‘damned be his name and memory’ in a local paper. He said that he had murdered my daughter to avenge me [for alleged personal reasons]…What a liar and a psycho.

Helen, an activist in the Israel Organization of Families of Murder Victims, led the call for a ban on media interviews with murderers, but to no avail. The Israeli courts decided in favor of the freedom of speech:

I think that a murderer, whose freedom was denied by law, should have no access to the media. He has no right to freedom of speech; it is enough that he had his day in court to present his pleas.

It seems that the effect of the forced exposure to the defendant, both in court and in the media, was exacerbated by the lack of legal rights to speak in court. In general, the court was described as ‘cold’ (Daniel), and the judges were depicted as indifferent to the co-victims or even as having treated them as a burden when they tried to speak in court. Alon, a co-victim and court witness who had been subjected to an ongoing attack by the defense in court as well as the media, described a particularly hurtful experience. After asking for the judges to order the defense attorney to be less hostile during cross-examination, he was ‘shocked’ when a judge told him that ‘they understood that he needed to unload his feelings, but that was not the place for it’. Michal, his sister, who attended court, said: ‘We were naïve, but we took it for granted that the judge should listen to us as well’. Participants described harsh feelings of ‘powerlessness’ (Alon) by this ‘silencing’ and a ‘loss of control’ (Michal). Only one participant, Susan, felt that ‘the judges were with us’ and described an empathetic judge, who ‘created [so much] space for them’ that it made them feel like participants.

Many of the interviewees shared a disillusionment with seeing the adversarial legal process as one that would accommodate their needs and wishes. Rivka described her place in the court as ‘not even a fly on the wall’—passive, muted, invisible—thus echoing Bibas’ (2012) description of victims as “outsiders” and showing that the experience led to a general self-perception as powerless (Bibas, 2012). Rivka suggested that ‘the judges can act differently. I do not think that bereaved parents should be reprimanded…if a person sits in court and cries’.

Several co-victims who had legal support were able to voice their views in the legal system, including via presentation of a victim personal statement (VPS). They recalled this as a positive experience (Ben, Rivka), in line with previous research (Erez, 1999; Roberts and Erez, 2010). However, as the quotes above indicate, the submission of a VPS was not sufficient in itself to make them feel that their voice had been adequately heard. This finding corroborates earlier research that has questioned the impact of VPS on victims (Sanders et al., 2001). Interestingly, despite their criticism of the courts and judges, a number of the co-victims interviewed stressed that they still respected the court or trusted the legal system.

Frustration with not being able to communicate their views in court due to the difficulties described above, and the wish to nevertheless affect the trial, encouraged many of the co-victims interviewed to turn to the media as an alternative channel of expression in the general public sphere. However, in their quest to be heard by the media, the participants had to tackle additional unexpected obstacles.

In light of the growing prevalence of visual representations in crime news (Greer, 2007), co-victims have been willing to supply photos to the media or to bring images of the murdered relatives to court. However, the findings of the present study indicate that this strategy had varying outcomes; the media welcomed such expressions, but the judiciary sometimes criticized them. For example, David decided to publish the last picture of his wife with their children—taken shortly before she had been gunned down—in spite of the Israeli law that protects the anonymity of minors, in order to raise public awareness:

I wanted to shock the public. I was thinking about those high-profile tragedies that disappeared so quickly from the news…I insisted that they do not cover the children’s faces…I wanted everyone to understand what a normal and happy family we were.

The use of photographs seemed to help some of the participants emphasize the evil and add a sense of reality to events that might otherwise remain abstract and difficult to grasp emotionally. Daniel explained: ‘When you see how sweet and beautiful my daughter was, you understand the pain, the loss and the cruelty’. Conversely, when some people used this strategy in court, it was met with institutional resistance. Rivka described how the judge had tried to remove the photographs of her murdered daughter from court, but she had insisted on holding on to them. The comments of the research participants on this issue varied; some thought that bringing photographs to court made co-victims look like ‘participants in a rally’ or felt it was important to protect the privacy of their loved ones.

To amplify their voices, the research participants had also invested in developing rhetorical strategies and adopting public relations techniques in order to convey their messages. Applying the principles of contemporary political communication (Lilleker, 2006), the interviewees recognized the importance of preparing a list of short messages, which conveyed persuasive information:

I realized that I was given 2–3 minutes to answer, and I must be focused and report briefly (David)

I realized that if you burst out in tears, the host would tell you how sorry he felt for you and end the interview. You must learn the language of the media. Like a politician…You have to practice how to ignore some questions and promote your messages instead. (Phil)

However, other participants had the opposite experience; the media ignored their messages and concentrated only on their physical signs of grief: ‘They saw only how I cry and yell, and that is what sells—not my words. Therefore, I made such an effort, so that I would be able to convey my message’. (Rivka).

It appears that several participants developed a utilitarian approach when considering which media tactics to choose. David demonstrated how clever rhetoric causes social change. He claimed that a slogan that he coined, calling the shooting of his wife ‘a criminal terrorist attack’ influenced the judges: ‘After I created the term “criminal terrorism”, the media used it whenever something similar happened. Even the trial judges used this term’. This participant echoed the scholarly arguments about politicians’ use of soundbites in their public speeches (Lilleker, 2006). These are short lines taken from longer texts that are then repeated in written policies.

However, both David and Daniel demonstrated similar ‘red-lines’ for co-operating with the media; they firmly and angrily refused to cooperate with media pressure to create sensational images on television news reports, and adamantly refused to be interviewed near the tombstones of the victims or at the site of the murders.

Hence, it appears that just as legal logic created obstacles for the co-victims’ struggle for recognition in the criminal procedures, the media’s commercial logic of sensationalism and dramatization also disempowered their voices in the public sphere.

The overall assessment of the relationship between the CJS and the media

Many of the research participants asserted that representations of crime and victims have both symbolic significance and practical efficacy, bearing real legal consequences: ‘Judges are affected by the media…I think that our campaign affected the trial outcome’ (Rivka). Alon, a victim and a court witness, said: ‘The media affected my testimony…For me, the media and the trial are intertwined’ and suggested that the media’s influence was so strong that it blurred the distinction between its reports and the actual trial. Others argued the opposite: ‘I don’t think the media has an impact on judicial discretion…The judges listen to public opinion but they are autonomous. That is why I trust them’ (Michal).

The interviewees also held varied views regarding who listens to the victims, the court system or the media: ‘The courts are powerful. The media is interested in publishing a story and that is it…The court really helps victims’ (Michal). However, some participants felt that the media cared more about their emotional needs than the court did, as the legal rules silenced their voice:

The judges asked difficult questions. They were more concerned with the strength of the evidence and less with my feelings. In the media, I was given the opportunity to voice my emotions. (David).

These statements reveal the dissatisfaction of the victims with their inability to speak in court, as mentioned before, and their reasons to turn to the media.

The interviewees also shared some of their insights regarding ways to better the situation, and recurring advice was concerned with the need for professional assistance on both legal and media issues. Similar to the other interviewees, Ben said: ‘I think that asking for Noga’s help was very helpful, because we started to understand where we were, how things worked, and what was going to happen’.

Legal assistance was also seen as helping to rebalance the media in favor of the victims, against the defendants’ ‘expensive, top-rank lawyers’ (Daniel). Helen said: ‘I am in favor of the fact that the victims’ lawyers are interviewed exactly like the defendants’ lawyers’.

Some of the participants suggested that victims should consult with lawyers before interacting with the media; some said that they felt that their lawyer ‘protected’ (Rachel) and ‘shielded’ them (Dina) from the media, others preferred the help of media consultants. There was overall agreement that help in dealing with the media was crucial. Even the seemingly technical help was appreciated: ‘We had an isolated room and the media professionals could not attack us right after the hearing’ (Michal).

Discussion

As a result of recent technological advances, current media coverage often precedes legal proceedings in murder cases of public interest and the legal process itself has become more public than ever, thanks to real-time media reports. The research to date has overlooked co-victims’ experiences of a dual need to cope with legal and media demands. The very similar importance that our participants, who were involved in tragic cases that attracted much media interest, ascribed to the two systems reflects this situation. The interviewees used almost identical vocabulary when discussing these two seemingly different experiences, especially when describing their feelings. These included complaints about insensitive treatment that hindered their ability to grieve, adding to their distress and disregarding their pleas that their message be fully heard. They found themselves in an extremely difficult position, where they not only had to deal with the murder itself and its consequences, to then construct a new identity of ‘crime victims’ (Batson, 2013), but also deal with these two powerful, often colliding, systems that interacted with each other in a strenuous and complex manner (Walklate, 2009). These two systems share a central feature: they both have verbal communication at their core. The ability to take part in this exchange and convey their messages to all relevant audiences was vital for the research participants, in line with the expressivist theory, one of the bases of the present research. Although there was some variation among the participants, we identified common themes that appeared to some extent in most of the interviews we conducted.

In this respect, and in light of the similarity with the plight of direct victims, the current research adds a meaningful component to understanding the importance co-victims ascribe to communication with law enforcement in the process of sense-making (Stretesky et al., 2010). This, in turn, may also be helpful in post-loss identity reconstruction (Batson, 2013; Stretesky et al., 2010).

Cooperation with the media was an attempt to protect the dignity and reputation of their murdered relatives in the public eye, as well as in the hope of affecting the court decisions indirectly via the media. However, participants felt that the two systems largely failed to provide them with the positive experience of validation or acceptance that they expected. Both the CJS and the media silenced and disempowered them, putting obstacles on their path to communication. In line with expressive theory, the co-victims we interviewed felt that despite their efforts the intricate exchange of messages embodied in the legal system and in the media excluded them and they were not able to convey their own messages (Bibas, 2012; Dancig-Rosenberg and Pugach, 2012). Hence, our study may offer a possible expansion of the expressive theory to media practices, at least insofar as the media is considered a tool to convey messages to two relevant audiences: the public and the courts. We suggest that in the new media environment that surrounds the CJS (Peleg and Bogoch, 2012), co-victims hold false expectations of the media as a means for transmission of their narrative to the CJS, and are frustrated by both emotional and practical obstacles.

The simultaneous management of the CJS and the media required the acquisition of two languages or jargon. The two are lexically mixed but separated by contradicting logics and values, and both are far removed from both the everyday language of victims and the therapeutic language that they might need (Luria et al., 2014).

The interviewees cited five major obstacles to being heard: (a) lack of information about the proceedings; (b) not understanding the legal language; (c) lack of legal mechanisms and an absence of willingness from the CJS officials to allow them to be heard in the adversary process; (d) commercial demands from the media that silenced their authentic messages; and (e) denial by the CJS of alternative strategies of expression. These findings correspond with those of previous research of the difficulties that co-victims face in the CJS in several countries (Connolly and Gordon, 2015; Dannemiller, 2002; King, 2004; Van Wijk et al., 2016) and recent research that found that co-victims were angry at the CJS because they felt that ‘the perpetrator gets all the attention and they are not allowed or able to do anything’ (Van Wijk et al., 2016: 6). The alleged failures of the system led the murder co-victims to mistrust, self-blame, and regret; thus exacerbating their sense of powerlessness inherent in being a victim (Ronel, 2008).

Some of the research participants said that they sought alternative modes of expression both in the courtroom (e.g., by shouting) and in the media. However, we identified two obstacles that silenced the victim’s voice even in the latter realms. First, they were let down by the sensational and empathy-inducing interviews with murderers and by the dramatization of the media, which restricted their ability to deliver their own messages. Hence, although research participants found that the legal language was often complicated, cold, and detached, they also resented the dramatization of their loss and the enforcement of the media’s codes. The second obstacle the participants encountered was their ambivalence towards media strategies. Some of their strategic adaptations to the media’s demand for dramatic outbursts and visual representations of their loss led to negative judicial reactions or antagonism. Thus, the interviewees not only felt that the legal system favored the defendants over them, but that the press appeared to have adopted the same mechanism due to professional needs and routines (‘media logic’: Altheide and Snow, 1991), and thereby shoved the co-victims into a small and well-defined corner of sensationalism (Greer, 2007; Kohm, 2009). This, in turn, increased the tension between the co-victims and the CJS.

Not only were the participants forced to learn two new languages, neither of which was their native tongue, but they also felt that both the criminal justice system and the media muted their authentic voices. Therefore, they experienced what we define here as a ‘lingual injury’, or the rejection and silencing of their own language in favor of a professional one, that ultimately left them injured and bereft of linguistic skills to communicate with either system in a satisfactory manner. Thus, they were not even given an opportunity for a ‘purely expressive voice’, as opposed to an instrumental voice, whereas the provision of both would have affected their perception of the fairness of the procedure (Lind and Tyler, 1988). The term ‘injury’ refers to the feeling of powerlessness that they experienced in both systems by their silencing, which is an aspect of their secondary victimization by those systems (Groenhuijsen and Letschert, 2014). The term ‘language’ in this respect surpasses the mere form of expression. It signifies ‘an institutional or cultural entity’ (Sapir, 1921), a community, modes of behavior, and membership in different social groups (Riely, 2007; Yule, 2010), all of which have been identified and researched by sociolinguistics. This observation strongly echoes Yule’s (2010) reference to legal terms as an example of jargon: ‘In social terms, a jargon helps to create and maintain connections among those who consider themselves partly as “insiders” and to exclude “outsiders”’ (Yule, 2010: 278). The same is true, of course, with respect to the media, whose professional norms are familiar to the journalists (Strömbäck and Esser, 2014), but not necessarily to the public at large. It follows that even when information has been provided, it requires ‘translation’, a more complex process that should take into account the cultural differences (Trivedi, 2005). This is reminiscent of Bibas’ (2012) portrayal of victims as outsiders to the criminal justice system, compounded by the difficulty of being outsiders to the media arena. At the end of the day, the overall experience of the participants was that of silencing, rejection, and alienation, so that even the non-verbal measures (photographs, shouts, etc.) that some of them developed had only a limited effect in these two highly verbal environments.

The participants’ self-image and newly built identity as victims (Batson, 2013) may have been heavily influenced by their unsuccessful attempts to decode the norms of behavior and to function effectively.

The lingual injury that the co-victims described intensified their feelings of powerlessness and alienation from systems that they sought as potential allies in the struggle to retain power and to be vindicated. These systems use a professional language that is not that of the ‘lay victim’ and does not allow authentic expression of their voices. In addition, the systems exercised their social control by forcing the co-victims to adapt to that language or be kept in silence (Cohen, 1985; Horwitz, 1990). Even legal assistance, which has been found to alleviate co-victims’ problems, did so only up to a point. The lingual injury further distanced the co-victims and compounded their initial injury. It went well beyond a mere lack of information or familiarity with the professional jargon, and ultimately led, as shown, to a profound inability to express and fulfill vital needs. However, the identification of this phenomenon may also indicate which solutions, mechanisms, and tools could help improve the relationship between victims, in general, and their surroundings, beyond the media representation. It could lead to better handling of victims’ grievances in both the legal system and the media, for example, by adopting ethical codes of behavior.

The results of this study strongly indicate the need to employ the concept of positive victimology (PV) as a guiding paradigm for assisting victims (Dancig-Rosenberg and Pugach, 2015; Toren, 2015) in their contact with both the criminal justice and media systems. Although PV was not studied here, it is intended to meet injuries and needs like those this research explored. Therefore, it seems a reasonable assertion that the current results support the underlying principles of PV. For example, PV emphasizes post-victimization integration at the interpersonal, intrapersonal, and spiritual levels (see Ronel and Toren, 2012), as a key concept of the response to victimization. In this respect, it is consistent with the emphasis in expressive theory on integrative communication between victims, the CJS, and, as we propose here, the media, as well (see, e.g., Dancig-Rosenberg and Pugach, 2012). A ‘by-definition’ integrative approach of involved agents would include integrative communication as well as other integrative means. The need for integration and assimilation seems particularly strong in light of our findings about the exclusion that co-victims felt. As a result, if assimilated by relevant societal and CJS agents, PV might highlight society’s responsibility to provide victims with means of integration that are positively experienced, and to minimize the victims’ sense of alienation resulting from post-victimization. In line with positive theories (Gal and Wexler, 2015; Ronel and Segev, 2014; Winick, 2009), the present research indicates an urgent need for thoughtful mediation between co-victims, the legal system, and the media, in the form of independent legal support and media consulting. It may also support the exploration of other avenues beyond the legal system, such as restorative justice, which could help co-victims in their quest for answers to those of their questions which the CJS does not address (Walters, 2015).

The present research was limited to a small sample, and to co-victims who had experienced extensive media coverage. In addition, most of the participants were represented at some stage by Noga Center lawyers, and this may have colored their interactions with the CJS and the media. We tried to minimize this limitation by asking about experiences both prior to being represented and after, and by choosing participants who had long-term experience of not being represented following the murder. However, we recommend the testing of the lingual injury concept on additional unrepresented crime victims, as this account did not compare co-victims with direct victims. The concept of lingual injury may also be studied in relation to other types of victims, and in other populations that have undergone social transition in mediatized environments.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

The authors declare equal contribution. We thank Irit Aloni for her invaluable assistance.

Notes

References

Adkins

(2003) The first day of the rest of their lives. Journal of Psychological Nursing & Mental Health Services 41: 28–32.

Altheide

Snow

(1991) Media Logic. Beverly Hills, CA: SAGE Publications.

Barak-Brandes

Shaul

(2014) The cameras were everywhere: Media conduct through the eyes of homicide victim’s families: Switzerland, Italy, and Israel. The Communication Review 17(4): 269–285.

Batson

(2013) The creation of the victimological self. PhD Thesis, Bar-Ilan University, Israel.

Beloof

(1999a) The third model of criminal process: The victim participation model. Utah Low Review 2: 289–332.

Beloof

(1999b) Constitutional civil rights of crime victim participation: The emergence of secondary harm as a rational principle. In: Beloof

Cassell

Twist

(eds) Victims in Criminal Procedure. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, pp.10–18.

Beloof

(2005) Enabling rape shield victims’ procedures under crime victims’ constitutional privacy rights. Suffolk University Law Review 38: 291–301.

Beloof

(2007) Weighing crime victims’ interests in judicially crafted criminal procedure. Catholic University Law Review 56: 1135–1149.

Beloof

Pugach

(2014) Victims’ rights need remedy: Comparing current victims’ rights in Israel and America. International Perspectives in Victimology 8(1): 11–37.

10.

Ben-David

(2000) Needed: Victim’s victimology. In: Friday

Kirchhoff

(eds) Victimology at the Transition from the 20th to the 21st Century. Mönchengladbach, Germany: Shaker Verlag & WSVP, pp.55–72.

11.

Bibas

(2012) The Machinery of Criminal Justice. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

12.

Bybee

(2007) Bench Press: The Collision of Courts, Politics, and the Media. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press.

13.

Carr

Logio

Maier

(2003) Keep me informed. International Review of Victimology 10(2): 117–136.

14.

Cavender

(2004) Media and crime policy: A reconsideration of David Garland’s the culture of control. Punishment and Society 6(3): 335–348.

15.

Chermak

(1995) Victims in the News: Crime and the American News Media. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.

16.

Christie

(1977) Conflicts as property. British Journal of Criminology 17(1): 1–15.

17.

Cohen

(1985) Visions of Social Control. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press.

18.

Connolly

Gordon

(2015) Co-victims of homicide: A systematic review of the literature. Trauma, Violence and Abuse 16(4): 494–505.

19.

Crime Victims Rights Act (CVRA), 18 U.S.C. § 3771 (2004). Legal Information Institute. Available at: https://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/text/18/3771 (accessed 4 September 2017).

20.

Crime Victims' Rights Act, S'H 2001, 1782 Israel (2001). Nevo. Available at: https://www.nevo.co.il/law_html/law01/134m1_001.htm (accessed 4 September 2017). (In Hebrew).

21.

Dancig-Rosenberg

Pugach

(2012) Pain, love and voice: The role of domestic violence victims in sentencing. Michigan Journal of Gender & Law 18(2): 423–483.

22.

Dancig-Rosenberg

Pugach

(2014) The next generation of victims’ rights: The constitutional right for due process. Tel-Aviv University Law Review 36, 549–604. (In Hebrew).

23.

Dancig-Rosenberg

Pugach

(2015) Between secondary victimization and positive victimology: The case of crime victims’ right of privacy. In: Ronel

Segev

(eds) Positive Criminology. New York, NY: Routledge, pp.292–306.

24.

Dannemiller

(2002) The parents’ response to child’s murder. Omega 45(1): 1–21.

25.

Dawson

Riches

(1998) Spoiled memories: Problems of grief resolution in families bereaved through murder. Morality 3: 143–159.

26.

DeFord

(2005) The dilemma of expressive punishment. University of Colorado Law Review 76: 843–860.

27.

Doyle

(2005) Terror Tracker: An Odyssey into Pure Fear. Edinburgh: Mainstream.

28.

Erez

(1999) Who’s afraid of the big bad victim? Victim impact statements as victim empowerment and enhancement of justice. Criminal Law Review July: 545–556.

29.

Erez

Kilchling

Wemmers

(2011) Therapeutic jurisprudence and victim participation in justice: An introduction. In: Erez

Kilchling

Wemmers

(eds) Therapeutic Jurisprudence and Victim Participation in Justice, International Perspectives. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, pp.ix–xix.

30.

Fletcher

(1995) With Justice for Some: Victims’ Rights in Criminal Trials. New York, NY: Addison Wesley.

31.

Fox

Van Sickel

Steiger

(2007) Tabloid Justice: Criminal Justice in the Age of Media Frenzy. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner.

32.

Gal

Wexler

(2015) Synergizing therapeutic jurisprudence and positive criminology. In: Ronel

Segev

(eds) Positive Criminology. New York, NY: Routledge, pp.85–97.

33.

Galtung

Ruge

(1965) The structure of foreign news. Journal of Peace Research 2: 64–90.

34.

Gekoski

Adler

Gray

(2013) Interviewing women bereaved by homicide: Reports of secondary victimization by the criminal justice system. International Review of Victimology 19(3): 307–329.

35.

Greer

(2007) News media, victims and crime. In: Davies

Francis

Greer

(eds) Victims, Crime and Society. London: SAGE Publications, pp.1–49.

36.

Greer

Mclaughlin

(2012) Media justice: Madeleine McCann, intermediatisation and ‘trial by media’ in the British Press. Theoretical Criminology 16(4): 396–416.

37.

Groenhuijsen

Letschert

(2014) Secondary victimization and the media: An international and comparative perspective. In: Schafer

Weitekamp

(eds) Establishing Victimology: Festscrift for Prof. Gerd Ferdinand Kirchhoff. Mönchengladbach, Germany: Hochschhule Niederrhein, pp.205–222.

38.

Haltom

(1998) Reporting on the Courts. Chicago, IL: Nelson-Hall Publishers.

39.

Hjarvard

(2008) The mediatization of society: A theory of the media as agents of social and cultural change. Nordicom Review 29(2): 105–134.

40.

Horwitz

(1990) The Logic of Social Control. New York, NY: Plenum Press.

41.

Husserl

(1952) Selected Papers. Jerusalem: Magnes. (In Hebrew).

42.

Israeli Police Yearly Statistics (2015) Available at: https://www.police.gov.il/Doc/TfasimDoc/shnaton2015.pdf (accessed 4 September 2017): 9. (In Hebrew).

43.

Jewkes

(2004) Media and Crime. London: SAGE Publications.

44.

Kahan

(1998) The anatomy of disgust in criminal law. Michigan Law Review 96: 1621–1657.

45.

Kay

(2006) Is restitution possible for murder? Surviving family members speak. In: Acker

Karp

(eds) Wounds That Do Not Bind: Victim-Based Perspectives on the Death Penalty 2nd ed . Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, pp.323–348.

46.

Kepplinger

(2002) Mediatization of politics: Theory and data. Journal of Communication 52(4): 972–986.

47.

Kilpatrick

Otto

(1987–1988) Constitutionally guaranteed participation in criminal proceedings for victims: Potential effects on psychological functioning. Wayne Law Review 34: 7–28.

48.

King

(2004) It hurts so bad: Comparing grieving patterns of the families of murder victims with those of families of death row inmates. Criminal justice Policy Review 15(2): 193–211.

49.

Kirchhoff

(2010) History and a theoretical structure of victimology. In: Shoham

Knepper

Martin

(eds) International Handbook of Victimology. Boca Raton, FL: CRC Press, pp.95–123.

50.

Kohm

(2009) Naming, shaming and criminal justice: Mass-mediated humiliation as entertainment and punishment. Crime Media Culture 5: 188–207.

51.

Lamborn

(1987–1988) Victim participation in the criminal justice process: The proposals for a constitutional amendment. Wayne Law Review 34: 125–220.

52.

Lilleker

(2006) Key Concepts in Political Communication. London: SAGE Publications.

53.

Lind

Tyler

(1988) The Social Psychology of Procedural Justice. New York and London: Plenum Press.

54.

Luria

Ben-David

Ronel

(2014) Positive victimology: The voice arising from the field. In: Schafer

Weitekamp

(eds) Establishing Victimology: Festscrift for Prof. Gerd Ferdinand Kirchhoff. Mönchengladbach, Germany: Hochschhule Niederrhein, pp.351–366.

55.

Marsh

Melville

(2009) Crime, Justice and the Media. New York, NY: Routledge.

56.

Mazzoleni

Schulz

(1999) ‘Mediatization’ of politics: A challenge for democracy? Political Communication 16(3): 247–261.

57.

Peleg

Bogoch

(2012) Removing Justitia’s blindfold: The mediatization of law in Israel. Media, Culture & Society 34(8): 961–978.

58.

Polkinghorne

(1989) Phenomenological research methods. In: Valle

Halling

(eds) Existential-Phenomenological Perspectives in Psychology. New York, NY: Plenum Press, pp.41–60.

59.

Reiner

(2003) Policing and the media. In: Newburn

(ed) Handbook of Policing. Cullompton, England: Willan, pp.259–281.

60.

Reiner

Livingstone

Allen

(2000) No more happy endings? The media and popular concern about crime since the Second World War. In: Hope

Sparks

(eds) Crime, Risk and Insecurity: Law and Order in Everyday Life and Political Discourse. London, England: Routledge, pp.107–126.

61.

Rentschler

(2007) Victims’ rights and the struggle over crime in the media. Canadian Journal of Communication 32(2): 219–239.

62.

Riely

(2007) Language, Culture and Identity: An Ethnolinguistic Approach. London, England: Continuum.

63.

Roberts

Erez

(2010) Communication at sentencing: The expressive function of victim impact statements. In: Bottoms

Roberts

(eds) Hearing the Victim: Adversarial Justice, Crime Victims and the State. London: Routledge, pp.232–254.

64.

Ronel

(2008) Grace therapy for recovering victims: A restorative 12-step based therapy. In: Sundaram

Jaishankar

Ramdoss

(eds), Crime Victims and Justice: An Introduction to Restorative Principles. New Delhi: Serial Publications, pp.399–408.

65.

Ronel

Segev

(2014) Positive criminology in practice. International Journal of Offender Therapy and Comparative Criminology 58(11): 1389–1407.

66.

Ronel

Toren

(2012). Positive victimology – An innovation or ‘more of the same’? Temida 15(2): 171–180.

67.

Samet

(2011) Manufacturing discontent: Populism and the press in Caracas, Venezuela. Paper prepared for the Law and Society Conference, San Francisco, California, June 2011.

68.

Sanders

Hoyle

Morgan

Cape

(2001) Victim impact statements: Don’t work, can’t work. Criminal Law Review: 447–458.

69.

Sapir

(1921) Language: An Introduction to the Study of Speech. Available at: www.bartleby.com/186/1.html (accessed 16 April 2015).

70.

Saponaro

(2014) Victimology and theoretical development: Future horizons through the lens of history. In: Schafer

Weitekamp

(eds) Establishing Victimology: Festscrift for Prof. Gerd Ferdinand Kirchhoff. Mönchengladbach: Hochschhule Niederrhein, pp.415–432.

71.

Schulz

(2004) Reconstructing mediatization as an analytical concept. European Journal of Communication 19(1): 87–101.

72.

Sebba

(2000) Victims’ rights and legal strategies: Israel as a case study. Criminal Law Forum 11(1): 47–100.

73.

Shapland

Hall

(2010) Victims at court: Necessary accessories or centre stage? In: Bottoms

Roberts

(eds) Hearing the Victim: Adversarial Justice, Crime Victims and the State. London: Routledge, pp.163–188.

74.

Shkedi

(2011) The Meaning Behind the Words: Methodologies of Qualitative Research – Theory and Practice. Tel Aviv, Israel: Ramot. (In Hebrew).

75.

Solum

(2004) Procedural justice. Southern California Law Review 78: 181–321.

76.

Spungen

(1998) Homicide: The Hidden Victims. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications.

77.

Stretesky

O’Connor

Hogan

Unnithan

(2010) Sense-making and secondary victimization among unsolved homicide co-victims. Journal of Criminal Justice 38(5): 880–888.

78.

Strömbäck

(2008) Four phases of mediatization: An analysis of the mediatization of politics. International Journal of Press Politics 13(3): 228–246.

79.

Strömbäck

Esser

(2014) Mediatization of politics: Towards a theoretical framework. In: Strömbäck

Esser

(eds) Mediatization of Politics: Understanding the Transformation of Western Democracies. New York, NY: Palgrave, pp.3–28.

80.

Svensson

(2007) Victim support in a changing welfare state. Social Work and Society 5(2): 123–134.

81.

Symonds

(1975) Victims of violence: Psychological effects and aftereffects. American Journal of Psychoanalysis 35: 19–26.

82.

Toren

(2015) Theoretical and practical aspects of positive victimology. In Ronel

Segev

(eds) Positive Criminology. New York, NY: Routledge, pp.237–249.

83.

Trivedi

(2005) Translating culture vs. cultural translation. Iowa City: University of Iowa International Writing Program. Available at: http://iwp.uiowa.edu/91st/vol4-num1/translating-culture-vs-cultural-translation (accessed 14 August 2017).

84.

Tyler

Degoey

Smith

(1996) Understanding why the justice of group procedures matters: A test of the psychological dynamics of the group-value model. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 70: 913–930.

85.

van Dijk

JJM

(2008) In the shadow of Christ? On the use of the word ‘victim’ for those affected by crime. Criminal Justice Ethics 27(1): 13–24.

86.

van Dijk

(2014) Benchmarking satisfaction of victims with the police through survey research: A missed opportunity for the European Commission. In: Schafer

Weitekamp

(eds) Establishing Victimology: Festscrift for Prof. Gerd Ferdinand Kirchhoff. Mönchengladbach, Germany: Hochschhule Niederrhein, pp.117–126.

87.

Van Menen

(1997) From meaning to method. Qualitative Health Research 7(3): 345–369.

88.

Van Wijk

Van Leiden

Ferwerds

(2016) Murder and the long-term impact on co-victims: A qualitative, longitudinal study. International Review of Victimology 23(2): 145–157.

89.

Walklate

(2009) Are we all victims now? Crime, suffering and justice. British Journal of Community Justice 7(2): 5–16.

90.

Waller

(2014) Bill rights for victims. In: Schafer

Weitekamp

(eds) Establishing Victimology: Festscrift for Prof. Gerd Ferdinand Kirchhoff. Mönchengladbach, Germany: Hochschhule Niederrhein, pp.477–490.

91.

Walters

(2015) ‘I thought “He’s a monster”…[but] he was just…normal’: Examining the therapeutic benefits of restorative justice for homicide. British Journal of Criminology 55(6): 1207–1225.

92.

Wardle

(2007) Monsters and angles: Visual press coverage of child murders in the USA and UK, 1930–2000. Journalism 8: 263–284.

93.

Wemmers

(2013) Victims’ experiences in the criminal justice system and their recovery from crime. International Review of Victimology 19(3): 221–233.

94.

Whiteley

(1998) The victim and the justification of punishment. Criminal Justice Ethics 17(2): 42–54.

95.

Williams

(1984) Secondary victimization: Confronting public attitudes about rape. Victimology 9: 66–81.

96.

Winick

(2009) Therapeutic jurisprudence, perspectives on dealing with victims of crime. Nova Law Review 33: 536–544.

97.

Yanay

(2005) Crime victims in Israel: Financial costs caused by an offence. Social Security 25: 37–41. (In Hebrew).

98.

Yule

(2010) The Study of Language 4th ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.