In a world where it often seems there is little we can agree on, there is still a universal hope that an innocent person is never executed.
That is what brought me to Palestine, Texas, in September. Before me was a complicated story about an unspeakable tragedy that occurred in 2002: the death of a toddler who was allegedly shaken by her father. It was a case in which seemingly critical evidence had been ignored or discounted.
But the most daunting thing for me, as I began this assignment, was time. The man at the center of our story, Robert Roberson, didn’t have much of it. He was just weeks away from his scheduled execution by lethal injection.
His story caught our attention in part because of an unusual array of supporters who have rallied to save him. A bipartisan group of Texas lawmakers last year subpoenaed Roberson in a bold and successful maneuver that temporarily delayed his execution. The former lead police detective in the case now insists Roberson is innocent, a victim of rushed conclusions, an incomplete investigation and a reliance on outdated medical science about shaken baby syndrome.
Whatever the truth, it was clear that this wasn’t a story that I could fully understand from a distance. There were people close to the trial I needed to speak to, including a juror who now believes she got it wrong. There was a nurse who was working the day Roberson brought his nearly lifeless daughter to the emergency room who might help us understand the events that led up to her death. And then there was Roberson’s original defense lawyer, who, according to trial transcripts, accepted the prosecution’s theory that this was a case of shaken baby syndrome.
Lastly, I needed to visit death row to speak to Roberson face to face.
Working an investigation of this scope and urgency is what made “The Last Appeal,” my first narrative podcast, so different from anything I have done in my 45 years as a broadcast journalist. It opened new doors, while also pulling me back to my roots as a reporter.
Most people know me through television, sitting at an anchor desk guiding news coverage and curating the major stories of the day inside a 22-minute window. It’s a model that endures and serves audiences well and one that has shaped most of my professional life. But this podcast asked something of me that was both new and strangely familiar. It took me back to the late 1970s, long before I ever appeared on television, when I worked as a young radio reporter covering the crime beat in San Francisco.
With my tape recorder slung over my shoulder, I would hit the streets each morning chasing interviews on the big stories of the day. Often that meant knocking on doors and walking into offices in search of answers. Those door knocks sometimes paid off. In a conversational manner, people would begin sharing their stories from their porches, living rooms and kitchens, much like they did with me all these decades later, in Palestine, Texas.
Reporters today have an array of virtual tools that can bring us closer to news and newsmakers; however, as this trip reminded me, those tools are no substitute for true proximity and bearing witness.
Being on the ground, asking questions, listening and observing still matters. It’s hard and time-consuming work and doesn’t always pay off. Full disclosure, I got some “nos.” The approach also requires investment from news organizations. But this podcast underscored to me the value of engaging people where they are and establishing face-to-face trust.
With that approach, my team and I filled in missing pieces as we traveled the streets and backroads of Palestine, connecting with people who have never publicly spoken about the Roberson case. Some of these interviews most likely would not have happened had I not worked this story from the ground. Reporting in this manner, without the usual infrastructure of cameras, lights and a large crew, was a revelation and challenged me to adapt my storytelling skills.
The stakes were higher than most given that a man’s life was hanging in the balance. Roberson’s lawyers were racing against the same clock we were. His legal team made it no secret that they were placing hope in our work, and they carefully followed what we reported publicly.
Roberson’s lead appeals lawyer, Gretchen Sween, referred to our reporting as their “secret weapon.” In a text to my producer, Dan Slepian, she wrote, the podcast that was “getting more important with each passing day.”
I should note here that our roles were distinct. As journalists, our responsibility was to expose the truth and hold the state accountable, especially as it was about to exercise its most formidable role: the power to lawfully kill.
Roberson’s attorneys, on the other hand, were focused on keeping him alive. They aimed to secure him a stay of execution, a new trial, or even full exoneration.
Before I returned to New York in September, there was one more interview to do. I met with Roberson on death row at the Polunsky Unit in Livingston, Texas.
As I did when I first met with Roberson a year earlier to interview him for NBC’s “Nightly News,” I asked him if he had killed his daughter. His answer was what you’d expect: an emphatic “No.” Roberson has never changed his account that Nikki died after a fall from bed following a period of chronic illness, not from being violently shaken, as prosecutors alleged.
In October, as the podcast drew national attention to the case and uncovered new information through interviews with people who had never spoken publicly, Roberson was granted a stay of execution by the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, which returned the case to the trial court. It was the third time his execution has been paused.
Serious questions remain as Roberson waits on death row. But the Texas Appeals Court ruling has opened the door for his lawyers to further challenge the science behind the disputed shaken baby diagnosis, and to argue that Roberson qualifies for a new trial under the state’s junk science law.
Since my last visit to Texas this fall, our reporting has found an alarming number of adults convicted of child abuse based on questionable shaken baby diagnoses.
It’s an avenue we will continue exploring as we await Roberson’s next day in court. His story is a powerful reminder of why journalism begins with listening and why certain stories can only be understood up close.
