Tell Them You Love Me tells a complicated and painful story with grace
the true crime that's worth your time
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It's been nearly a decade since Anna Stubblefield dominated the headlines; it's been far longer since the incidents that sent her to jail went down. It felt like the Rutgers University ethics professor was everywhere in the fall of 2015, when she stood trial for sexual assault. Like many in that position, Stubblefield insisted she had consent; in fact, she said that the two were in love. But unlike those other suspects, the person she allegedly assaulted can't confirm or dispute her claim. According to his family, he never could.
A new-to-the US documentary, Tell Them You Love Me, reveals that even after all this time, Stubblefield insists that she was innocent, and the man she was accused of assaulting is trapped inside a body that won't allow him to express himself. There are times in the film that you might believe her. Or, more likely, you'll believe that she believes that.
This doc, which aired in the UK in February and drops on Netflix on June 14, does one of the best jobs I've ever seen of truly telling all sides of a case — including the suspect's — without selling anyone out. Given the remarkably loaded nature of the case, which is fraught with issues of gender, race, disability, culture, and consent, it's a notable achievement from director Nick August-Perna.
The doc isn't the type that surprises you with a shocking twist or big reveal, so everything I've told you in the grafs above won't compromise your viewing. But if you're someone who prefers an unfolding story, be warned that I'm about to go into details of a case you've either forgotten, misremembered, or improperly understood. You have been warned.
Now in his 40s, Derrick Johnson has always lived with his mother. The New Jersey man was born with with cerebral palsy, and has never been able to speak. He was diagnosed from a young age as significantly mentally impaired, and needs assistance to feed himself, move significant distances, or care for himself. He has always worn a diaper, and struggles to control his movements. But according to Anna Stubblefield, his intellect was merely muffled by his physical impairments, and he was able to communicate using a highly controversial assisted typing method called facilitated communication.
To be clear, this isn't the same thing as the tools used by Stephen Hawking and others. Instead, an assistant guides the hand of the subject, seemingly cueing off barely perceptible movements, to type words and phrases. If that sounds a bit like the movement of the planchette of a Ouija board, you're on the same track as FC's multitudes of detractors. They say something called the ideomotor phenomenon, a psychological state of movement without realizing it, guides witchboard users and these alleged facilitators.
His middle class, Black family obviously loves and cares for him: his mother Daisy, who appears prominently in the documentary, expresses an early wish that Derrick could live a more typical life but loves him as he is. His brother, John, is now a college professor and was finishing his PhD as the details of the case began; he was also a caretaker for his brother, he affirms.
It was John who introduced Stubblefield to Derrick, we learn, after attending a seminar in which she discussed FC. She says she looked for an expert who could explore if the approach might help Derrick. When she couldn't find anyone locally, she volunteered herself.
As Stubblefield tells it, as soon as Derrick had access to FC, he began to communicate freely, rejecting his birth name for another name, D-Man. She explains this without guile, and briefly, perhaps, this feels reasonable. Then we return to Daisy and John, who explain their dismay that this white woman came into their home and seemingly changed the name of their family member.
More and more incidents that suggest white saviorism are detailed openly by Stubblefield, while others are recalled by the Johnsons -- a rejection of Daisy's gospel music in favor of classical, for example. Even in this extreme situation, it feels familiar to any urban dweller who's interacted with well-meaning white women of a certain age. It's uncomfortable, and it should be, especially as Stubblefield's apparent unconscious biases aren't that different from award-winning narratives we've lived with — maybe even applauded — all our lives. (The way John says "The Blind Side," dripping with contempt...it's bracing.)
The line between white savior and white predator has always been that thin, and Stubblefield seems to have stretched it till it broke. She explains, almost giddily, that the pair eventually fell in love, and embarked on a sexual relationship. After a time, she announced the relationship to Daisy and John. Fairly swiftly, they contacted the authorities, and Stubblefield headed to court.
As Stubblefield wasn't disputing the actual details of the encounters, or any incidents brought forth by the Johnsons, the trial was as much over the validity of FC as it was anything. Through interviews with experts, investigators, and advocates within the disabled community, August-Perna dismantles the idea of FC with skill and confidence that never feels heavy handed or cold — which is certainly could have.
Who hasn't dreamed that there was a way to reach people who otherwise seem unreachable? Who hasn't worried about being trapped, unable to communicate, inside themselves? Taking away that hope could feel smirky or cruel in hands less sure. But with both Stubblefield and the Johnson family looking into the lens, we realize how that hope can be dangerous and delusional.
Ultimately, Tell Them You Love Me is about two crimes: the fraud of FC, and the sexual assault of a person incapable of giving consent. Both these crimes are enabled by layers of what I'll call societal misconduct: racial power imbalances, the oft-unclear rights of disabled people, and even the disbelief that a woman can commit rape.
Stubblefield was found guilty and sentenced to 12 years in prison, but was freed a few years later by an appeals court that agreed that proponents for FC were unfairly excluded from testimony in the original trial. She subsequently accepted a plea deal and was sentenced to time served. Even now, she maintains convinced that she was jailed for a great, star-crossed love affair, one unfairly cut short by a family who failed to understand their brother and son. It's a stark expression of unrepentance, something that — like the rest of the events of the film — could have been played for shock, or sensation. Instead, it's presented with quiet, firm belief. That might be the most unsettling thing of all.
Tell Them You Love Me
Recommendation: Watch
The case in favor:
A bizarre tale, told calmly
Subverts expectations and questions unconscious bias
You won't stop thinking about it and wanting to discuss it with others
The case against:
FC is presented early on as a reliable tool, and only later is revealed as a likely fraud. That felt like a gimmick unbefitting this show
I get the need to be concise (and applaud it!) But there are a lot of details to this story that I wish this doc had picked up. I recommend chasing it with this NYT story from 2015 and this follow from 2018. (Both are gift links.)