The Truth Doesn’t Sell – But the Word ‘Beast’ Does

From the blog series: Life After the Label – Stories They Don’t Print

This is the blog I never thought I’d write. But another headline, carefully crafted to influence public opinion, pushed me to finally speak.

‍

Recently, the CEO at Next Chapter Scotland released a book, aimed at helping parents talk to their children about difficult topics. A well-intentioned piece of work, which any reader of Here, With You would recognise as sincere.

‍

But instead of focusing on the book’s message, the tabloid press used its release as an opportunity to stir emotion and remind people of the writer’s past.

‍

And that’s what struck a chord. Again.

‍

Because I’ve lived it. I’ve had my name twisted into a headline. My reputation reshaped by words chosen not for truth, but for effect. To be turned into something you’re not because it makes for a better story. A more clickable story.

‍

A few years ago, I was wrongfully convicted of a sexual offence. No evidence. Just someone’s word against mine. That was enough. The justice system didn’t ask for proof. It asked for performance. A lawyer even told me.

‍

“The truth doesn’t matter. What matters is what sounds truthful.”

‍

That was the moment I knew this wasn’t about facts. It was about belief. About emotion. About what people feel happened, and not a factual account of what actually happened.

‍

The media know exactly how to use that emotion for maximum impact.

‍

When the story broke, it wasn’t just reported. It was built. An unrelated job I’d had years after the alleged offence, for example, was attached to my name because it sounded more dramatic. Journalists didn’t care about relevancy. They cared if it got a click.

‍

Then came the word that still haunts me.

‍

“Beast.”

‍

It’s dehumanising. It paints you as unsafe. And it works.

‍

The use of that word removes all complexity, all context, and turns you into something that people don’t want or need to hear any more about to make up their mind about you. They need to avoid you. They should hate you. You deserve to be punished.

‍

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true. It didn’t matter that I had no history of violence or abuse. It didn’t matter that an accuser themselves had taken the stand in court and said under oath that I had never crossed a line.

‍

The word was out there, and once it’s printed, you can’t un-print it.

‍

And the jury heard that word too. Not in the courtroom, maybe, but in the air around the case. On the lips of people talking. In the comment sections. The power of that word did its work long before any verdict was delivered.

‍

There can be no doubting the role that the media play in the decision making process of a Jury. Whether or not jurors are diligent about following directions to avoid doing their own searching up on the case, or engage in conversation with others outside of the courtroom about the ongoings inside, word today is further and faster reaching than ever before.

‍

When the verdict was delivered, the media reported their version of events. They removed any shade of anything contrary to the conviction. They rewrote the gaps with opinion, assumption, and insinuation. They omitted any element of suggestion that the conviction could be wrongful. They took the opportunity to affirm their journalistic integrity, now that their portrayal had been validated.

‍

And that’s the version that stuck.

‍

That’s the version that strangers now believe.

‍

The version that lives forever in Google search results.

‍

It’s not just a sentence they print. It’s a life sentence.

‍

The word I was labelled with follows me everywhere. I don’t apply for jobs anymore. I assume I’ll be Googled. I don’t trust new people. I live in fear.

‍

One of the things that hurts most is the silence around it. The acceptance. The way we’ve all just let the media turn people’s character, stories and lives into clickbait. We don’t stop to question the accuracy of the article or what might have been left out. We just take what we’re fed.

‍

So here I am, writing the words I never thought I would have to.

‍

I was wrongfully convicted. And then I was re-convicted by the media. I’ve lost almost everything. Friends, a career, a sense of belonging.

‍

And yet, I’m still here.

‍

If you’ve been through something similar, defined by a conniving headline, or dishonoured and broken down by the tabloid media, you are not alone.

‍

Next Chapter Scotland is a place where people like me and so many others, can tell their stories without shame. It’s a platform that’s fair, impartial, and human.

‍

If you’re carrying the weight of someone else’s version of your life, please reach out. There is no problem too small, and no story too complicated.

‍

Because we all deserve a voice.

‍

The headlines do not define us.

‍