Death by social media

I got to the courthouse 15 minutes early. My footsteps on the terrazzo floor echoed off the walls as I walked toward the staircase to the third-floor courtroom. The most serious cases are heard every Friday at the Marion County Courthouse in Knoxville, Iowa. While our county is almost twice as large in area as New York City, our population is only approximately 33,000. We are served by a magnificent sandstone courthouse built in 1896 in the Romanesque Revival style, with a rotunda that rises from ground level through the fourth floor, arched windows, wide staircases and a clock tower.

It’s an old-fashioned monument to the power of the state, designed to make even the most hardened criminal feel small and fearful.

I’m a reporter for KNIA/KRLS radio in Knoxville and nearby Pella. I’d heard through the law enforcement grapevine that something big was up, and I was puzzled. I’d looked at the court docket, and no major crimes were listed. Just a normal Friday of drug-related cases, assaults and drunks.

{mosads}As I approached the top of the stairs, I heard the gentle rumble of voices. Slowly climbing the last few steps, I saw that a crowd had gathered, which was unusual. There were probably 25 people standing outside the door of the courtroom, and as they heard me coming up the stairs they grew silent, and turned to look directly at me as I topped the staircase. I paused to catch my breath for a moment, and looked into what seemed to be a sea of eyeballs. I smiled, and nodded. Some offered meager smiles and subtle nods back as they parted to let me pass, and I went into the courtroom, alone.

A few minutes later, court was ready to begin. All the people who were in the hallway had joined me in the courtroom. I wasn’t sure if they were there to support or condemn whoever had been charged. Finally, a woman who looked to be in her 20s entered in handcuffs. She had long dark hair, and was pale. She looked hollow. Empty. Her head down, she was followed by two police officers. They uncuffed her, and led her to a chair, where she sat with her back to the audience.

She was wearing a black and white horizontally striped prison or jail uniform, which told me she was from Pella. For public shaming, stripes are preferred in Pella; other inmates in the county wear orange. Pella is a prosperous community, built on a strong manufacturing base and agriculture. Most of the people of Pella are deeply Christian and conservative.

I wondered what the young woman’s crime was. It seems that crime doesn’t happen a lot in Pella compared to other local communities, but when it happens, it’s a doozy.

Court was now in session. We were told we were there for an arraignment and that the defendant was 28-year-old Anna Nicole Sothman of Pella. She was there to enter a guilty plea to a felony charge of child endangerment resulting in death. As the judge made the pronouncement, a woman in the audience sighed deeply, and a few gentle sobs came from Sothman as she fought back tears.

Details of the charges quickly emerged. Sothman had placed her 13-month-old daughter Elaine in a bathtub with running water, and left the child unattended. For 30 to 40 minutes she took phone calls and accessed Pinterest on her phone. When she returned, Elaine was unresponsive.

I shut my eyes. Maybe I shook my head. I don’t remember. I do remember pulling my chin off my chest. While I don’t know the family, ours is a small world. Most certainly, someone I know and care about is also a victim in this case. And a beautiful, wonderful girl, with infinite potential that would never be realized, was dead.

As I listened to the calm voices of the judge, and the defense and prosecuting attorneys converse, I pulled my phone from my pocket, and typed the words”Anna Sothman” into the search function on Facebook. I found her. I scrolled down, and there she was with her three young children. All beautiful, and precious. A boy looked at his mom lovingly, holding her arm. His younger sister sat on mom’s left knee, “Big Sis” printed on her shirt. In a matching outfit, a toddler sat on the woman’s lap, trying to squirm away. It’s partly obscured, but comments to the photo suggest her shirt says “Lil Sis,” or “Little Sis.” In the photo, Mom is looking down with a loving smile at the toddler, ready to laugh. It’s Anna Southman, and my heart ached for the loving family. The toddler in the photo is Elaine. She’s dead.

Sothman stood and confessed. She’s some kind of dead too, I thought, wondering how one could possibly bear such a burden of guilt.

I hunched over, making sure my hands were over the screen of my phone, covering what I was doing. I looked around, hoping no one was watching, and found her Pinterest page. It could have been my daughter’s, and is certainly typical of many young mothers I know: Photos of jewelry, food, toys, dolls and more. Pinterest linked to her Etsy site, where she had set up an online shop to sell her handcrafted jewelry. Her enthusiastic Etsy profile says she is a stay-at-home mom who started crafting jewelry as a creative outlet, and to keep her “sanity” as she was raising her children.

I was caught up in conflicting thoughts. First, anger at Sothman, then pity and sorrow. I’ve covered similar heartbreaking stories before. Most recently, it was a Pella childcare provider who left a toddler unattended in a car seat. The little girl asphyxiated on a strap while sleeping. Another toddler slipped from a mother’s grasp as she was trying to juggle two more children on a sidewalk, and ran into the street, hitting the side of a car. Fortunately, he was OK, and suffered only bruises.

Every parent I know recognizes that caring for children is a wonder — a blessing — and certainly the most important thing we do. We also know that it is an inherently risky business. Can we be “on” 24/7/365 for our children? We better be. Leaving a toddler alone in a bathtub for 30 to 40 minutes is unconscionable. The vast majority of parents have never left a toddler alone in a bathtub for five seconds. Yet, for most of us, caring for our children is a constant worry: Might I forget them in the bathtub, might they slip on the ice, might we let them get too close to the street, might I forget they are riding with us and lock them in the car on a hot day, leave them in the carseat in the parking lot?

You name it, and we fear it.

The hearing drew to a close. Defense attorney Wes Chaplin and prosecuting attorney Ed Bull presented the case to Judge Martha Mertz like a smooth triple play. Sothman was along for the ride, caught up in a wave the court system creates for every defendant, guilty or not.

When we and other media who caught our breaking news posted the story on the web and on Facebook, social media did what it does — both good and bad. On a more kinder side, comments ranged from prayers for the family, to statements that it was “so heartbreaking” and “Wow … so sad!!” and “it happened just like that … here and gone in a matter of minutes,” and a mention on how to use PayPal to help the family pay the bills. The trolls were at work too, opening their arms wide, ready to embrace the karma train, posting that Sothman should “rot and burn,” that it was “intentional,” and that she was a “pathetic excuse for a mother.”

Digging deep into the quagmire of Facebook comments, trying to figure out who was who, and what each person was saying about the negligent death of little Elaine Sothman, I clicked back and forth between Facebook and Pinterest for way too long.

Sothman will be sentenced Sept. 23. She faces the possibility of spending 50 years in prison for the negligent death of her precious little girl because she was too absorbed with her cellphone to pay attention.

I’ll be in the courtroom that day to hear what the punishment will be for Anna Sothman. But right now I’m wondering what the punishment will be for the rest of us who commit less egregious crimes of neglect, as we too spend too much time online, and unengaged in the real world.

Leonard is an anthropologist and hosts a public affairs program on KNIA/KRLS radio in Knoxville/Pella, Iowa. Follow him on Twitter @robertleonard.

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