As the world reels from yet another natural catastrophe, where lives are both lost and forever changed, the reporting of these tragedies and our consumption of them appears to be changing.
Instead of simply reading, watching and listening to what’s happening in order to be informed, in touch and aware, there’s a sense in which the way the reports are packaged and broadcast is like consuming pornography – disaster pornography.
There are explicit images, lingering close-ups, hyperbole, and constant streaming of calamity on a scale difficult to fathom. TV shows and news bulletins offer extended coverage. Some channels forgo regular programming and offer disaster, when it occurs, 24/7.
And you have to wonder, is our appetite for this growing and the stations are merely meeting demand or, are we being fed something we find distasteful and distressing and don’t know how to object to without sounding heartless and uncaring?
Is pornography too strong a word? Probably, but let’s examine the evidence.
Close to home, commerci
al and social media played a very important role when it came to the Queensland floods, Cyclone Yasi and the floods and bushfires in Victoria and Western Australia. Local journalists in particular, found their stride as they both suffered and described what they and their neighbours were enduring.
Like the news correspondent of old, someone embedded, familiar with the cultural terrain and able to offer a context or personal perspective on events, these journalists wrote and spoke from the heart.
Images and stories kept the public well informed, often simultaneously provoking and allaying feelings of helplessness, as those outside the danger zones watched and waited and, where they could and in whatever manner, aided.
Overstatements were occasionally made as some were caught up (understandably) in the emotions – they experienced the calamity with all their senses, becoming conduits through which we, the public, reached understanding.
In an effort to emulate that very personal style, commercial broadcasters sent reporters – their ‘stars’, those both familiar to viewers and accustomed to relaying facts, to be on the ground and grab any story they could – particularly those of triumph over tragedy.
In this mercantile era, humanity and commercial interests often colluded rather than collided – mostly to the satisfaction of all.
Then, the waters, fires and winds receded, new stories developed, and so did the networks and the publics’ short-term memory.
Just ask those left high, dry and financially (and every other way) stranded.
When the community mumbles of discontent began, unhappy with the way some networks were so eager to fly reporters into areas they didn’t know, to confront people they wouldn’t normally relate to in order to grab a headline and sate viewers’ appetites, Christchurch was rocked to its foundations.
Once more, we watched aghast, as images were beamed into our homes and stories of horror, hardship and hope travelled across all media and into our hearts.
Over the ruins, the reporters c
ame, some (not all) clambering to new lows in order to get that story – the one that would catapult them into headlines (which happened), sometimes exploiting people’s misery and shock to do so. Functioning more like eager ambulance chasers, looking to inject excitement if not entertainment rather than empathy, they stayed a few days or hours, enough to authenticate their ‘on the spot’ reporting, then departed.
If there’s anything we’re guaranteed in this life, it’s where there’s mayhem and misery, the tabloid media aren’t far behind.
Never strange bedfellows, they became, in a disastrously short time, committed lovers.
And now there’s Japan to renew the relationship. More shocking, heart-breaking stories of death, dying and desolation are being told. Alongside those, the occasional tales of ‘miracles’ are also shared to remind us that even in the darkest of times, good things can and do happen.
Filled to the brim with all this disaster and the endless repetition of stories, it’s hard not to develop compassion or even tragedy fatigue.
While some are glued to their screens – in all media – others are turning away and looking for any distraction other than all this sufferi
ng.
It’s not that they don’t care – it’s that they do – possibly too much. And they care that there’s something exploitative about the way some of the news from these grief-stricken regions is being delivered.
Not to fulfil a public need so much as a ratings goal.
It’s easy to think we’re becoming desensitised to tragedy. It happens with pornography as well. The more that’s consumed, the more the consumer becomes addicted, seeking a new level of arousal, of excitement; they demand more explicit material in order to simply feel.
In his book, Danse Macabre, Stephen King offers another explanation – only this is in regard to popular culture. He believes we watch and read material that scares and makes us despair in order to remind us of our mortality, to revivify moribund lives and make us appreciate what we do have.
Perhaps the same process occurs with these tragedies. That’s why we watch and demand more from our media. To remind us of how lucky we are compared to those who have their lives torn, washed and burnt away.
We still have choice.
For some, increasingly, that choice is to remember that human misery is serious – it’s not entertainment or an excuse for self-promotion or photo opportunities.
Something about which certain media outlets and personalities, in their quest for dominance, appear to have lost sight.
Disaster Porn
As the world reels from yet another natural catastrophe, where lives are both lost and forever changed, the reporting of these tragedies and our consumption of them appears to be changing.
Instead of simply reading, watching and listening to what’s happening in order to be informed, in touch and aware, there’s a sense in which the way the reports are packaged and broadcast is like consuming pornography – disaster pornography.
There are explicit images, lingering close-ups, hyperbole, and constant streaming of calamity on a scale difficult to fathom. TV shows and news bulletins offer extended coverage. Some channels forgo regular programming and offer disaster, when it occurs, 24/7.
And you have to wonder, is our appetite for this growing and the stations are merely meeting demand or, are we being fed something we find distasteful and distressing and don’t know how to object to without sounding heartless and uncaring?
Is pornography too strong a word? Probably, but let’s examine the evidence.
Close to home, commerci
al and social media played a very important role when it came to the Queensland floods, Cyclone Yasi and the floods and bushfires in Victoria and Western Australia. Local journalists in particular, found their stride as they both suffered and described what they and their neighbours were enduring.
Like the news correspondent of old, someone embedded, familiar with the cultural terrain and able to offer a context or personal perspective on events, these journalists wrote and spoke from the heart.
Images and stories kept the public well informed, often simultaneously provoking and allaying feelings of helplessness, as those outside the danger zones watched and waited and, where they could and in whatever manner, aided.
Overstatements were occasionally made as some were caught up (understandably) in the emotions – they experienced the calamity with all their senses, becoming conduits through which we, the public, reached understanding.
In an effort to emulate that very personal style, commercial broadcasters sent reporters – their ‘stars’, those both familiar to viewers and accustomed to relaying facts, to be on the ground and grab any story they could – particularly those of triumph over tragedy.
In this mercantile era, humanity and commercial interests often colluded rather than collided – mostly to the satisfaction of all.
Then, the waters, fires and winds receded, new stories developed, and so did the networks and the publics’ short-term memory.
Just ask those left high, dry and financially (and every other way) stranded.
When the community mumbles of discontent began, unhappy with the way some networks were so eager to fly reporters into areas they didn’t know, to confront people they wouldn’t normally relate to in order to grab a headline and sate viewers’ appetites, Christchurch was rocked to its foundations.
Once more, we watched aghast, as images were beamed into our homes and stories of horror, hardship and hope travelled across all media and into our hearts.
Over the ruins, the reporters c
ame, some (not all) clambering to new lows in order to get that story – the one that would catapult them into headlines (which happened), sometimes exploiting people’s misery and shock to do so. Functioning more like eager ambulance chasers, looking to inject excitement if not entertainment rather than empathy, they stayed a few days or hours, enough to authenticate their ‘on the spot’ reporting, then departed.
If there’s anything we’re guaranteed in this life, it’s where there’s mayhem and misery, the tabloid media aren’t far behind.
Never strange bedfellows, they became, in a disastrously short time, committed lovers.
And now there’s Japan to renew the relationship. More shocking, heart-breaking stories of death, dying and desolation are being told. Alongside those, the occasional tales of ‘miracles’ are also shared to remind us that even in the darkest of times, good things can and do happen.
Filled to the brim with all this disaster and the endless repetition of stories, it’s hard not to develop compassion or even tragedy fatigue.
While some are glued to their screens – in all media – others are turning away and looking for any distraction other than all this sufferi
ng.
It’s not that they don’t care – it’s that they do – possibly too much. And they care that there’s something exploitative about the way some of the news from these grief-stricken regions is being delivered.
Not to fulfil a public need so much as a ratings goal.
It’s easy to think we’re becoming desensitised to tragedy. It happens with pornography as well. The more that’s consumed, the more the consumer becomes addicted, seeking a new level of arousal, of excitement; they demand more explicit material in order to simply feel.
In his book, Danse Macabre, Stephen King offers another explanation – only this is in regard to popular culture. He believes we watch and read material that scares and makes us despair in order to remind us of our mortality, to revivify moribund lives and make us appreciate what we do have.
Perhaps the same process occurs with these tragedies. That’s why we watch and demand more from our media. To remind us of how lucky we are compared to those who have their lives torn, washed and burnt away.
We still have choice.
For some, increasingly, that choice is to remember that human misery is serious – it’s not entertainment or an excuse for self-promotion or photo opportunities.
Something about which certain media outlets and personalities, in their quest for dominance, appear to have lost sight.