Editor's note: This letter is in response to a Jan. 15 op-ed responding to a now-deleted Jan. 7 news article, which reported on the circumstances surrounding the death of Lia Smith ’26. The paper’s executive team decided to make a one-time exception to its strict editorial policy and remove the article after a long discussion and vote by Campus staff. The Campus remains proud of its 120-year history of student-run reporting and of serving as a forum for free and fair speech.
In Will Beckerman ’26’s op-ed titled “Ethical journalism at The Campus,” he argued that The Campus acted unethically by publishing details from Lia Smith ’26’s death certificate, accusing the paper of prioritizing speed over compassion and violating journalistic norms.
The pain animating that critique is real and deserves acknowledgement. Lia’s death was devastating for me, not only because of who she was, but also what she represented. She was the second person in my graduating class to die by suicide, invoking a sense of guilt and passive emptiness I will carry for a long time. I feel Beckerman’s pain deeply and take his reflections seriously, which is why I believe his conclusion is mistaken. A press that retreats from truth in moments of discomfort does not become more humane; it becomes less free.
When The New York Times wrote about Lia, it did so with depth and care, presenting her life honestly, with all its joys and struggles. The piece did not sensationalize her death, nor did it hide from difficult truths. It demonstrated a central principle of ethical journalism: Responsibility lies not in omission, but in how facts are contextualized and handled. Here, too, the reporting was careful rather than reckless. Instead of chasing gossip or conjecture, The Campus relied on verified public records, as journalists are trained to do. Calling that sensationalism misunderstands the purpose of those records and the role of a free press in making them known.
One of Beckerman's central arguments cites the Society of Professional Journalists’ Code of Ethics, particularly its mandate to “minimize harm.” However, minimizing harm does not mean withholding truthful and relevant information simply because it is upsetting. It means avoiding gratuitous detail, lurid framing and dehumanization, all of which the original Campus article avoided. While the story was painful for many to read, it did not frame Lia as a villain nor promote myths about transgender people and violence.
What did happen was something quieter and more serious. My body tensed, my awareness sharpened and I looked around campus with a newfound realization that some of my peers may possess unregistered firearms. That reaction matters because it speaks directly to the public’s right to know. Middlebury students live in a twin reality. We are a small campus built on trust, familiarity and interconnectedness. But, we are also a community where firearms exist — sometimes unregistered, sometimes unknown to those around them. Ignoring that reality does not make us safer; it makes us less informed. Journalism that brings such facts to light does not court fear. Instead, it enables honest conversations about safety and responsibility.
Beckerman also claimed that The Campus failed to follow The Trevor Project's guidelines. I wholeheartedly disagree. The article avoided graphic detail, treated Lia with dignity and did not frame her identity as “explanatory” or “causal,” precisely the harms those guidelines seek to prevent. Moreover, such guidelines are recommendations, not binding ethical rules. They are meant to inform journalistic judgment, not replace it. True ethical journalism requires balancing multiple obligations, not rigid adherence to any single external standard.
For those who loved her, the pain is profound, and no article, no matter how carefully written, can avoid reopening wounds. Acknowledging that grief is essential, but grief alone cannot be the standard by which we judge whether journalism is ethical. A press that exists primarily to shield its community from discomfort cannot fulfill its role, and a community that demands silence in the face of such discomfort does not become more compassionate. If we believe that truth matters, then we must also believe in those willing to deliver it — even when it hurts.
