Skip to main content

News and Views

Michael Buerk chats about Carnage and the Media and says he feels strongly that the public must see real images of the results of violence. He also says that he firmly believes that fictional violence anaesthetizes people against the reality.

It seems to me there is an anomaly here. If fictional violence makes us immune to real violence, then surely repeated exposure to real violence via news reporting will have the same effect.

I have a particular question I want to ask him but there are many hands going up in the auditorium and I don’t get the opportunity until later.

I approach him and ask him if he would mind answering a question I have. I can feel an extraordinary energy from him; the power of his mind. He exudes mental acuity, and it fascinates me how we can sense that. It’s like being next to an engine.

Anyway, I feel very strongly about this particular issue and ask him what he thinks about newspapers printing front page photographs of corpses with their body fluids staining their clothes and pooling on the ground, and dead bodies being shown on television news, both media placed where young children can see them.

He folds his arms tight over his chest, but sees my point immediately. He says that of course televised footage of death and violence should be shown after the 9 o’ clock watershed, adding, ‘If you don’t show such images in order to protect children, then you infantilize the whole population.’

I suggest that the answer is radio, where the facts can be given and the situation described, without the accompanying sensational images. He is not drawn by this suggestion.

Buerk is a passionate believer in showing the public the true horror of war, of terrorism, and of starvation, and he implies that seeing these truths will shake us out of our complacency. I’m not sure. In Britain I do feel there is a strange mismatch between a desire for fictional violence; drama or computer games, and a distaste for real violence.

I am not convinced that fictional violence is always numbing. Our subconscious mind cannot differentiate between what is real and what is not. Fictional violence can therefore make us anxious or even paranoid. It is well recognized that people perceive themselves in danger in such situations as walking home alone, or in isolated places, when the likelihood of being attacked is, in reality, minimal (unless you are a young male, late teens to early twenties, then you should be keeping your wits about you).

Our disgust and abhorrence at REAL corpses and horrifically wounded bomb victims makes us turn away because we are powerless. We cannot stop it; it has already happened. Photojournalism casts us as impotent voyeurs. We feel ineffective, alarmed and frustrated.

We have some power over the televised fictional violence because we have chosen to watch, often knowing that there will be rough stuff, or we can stick to U and PG films. Where computer games are concerned, children have some power when they play such games; they have none when they accidentally see graphic and real violence that they cannot prevent, or suffering that they cannot alleviate.

That sounds as though I think we all have an altruistic gene. I mean that we do not only have ‘fight or flight’ responses, but that our natural urge is either to defend ourselves, help the wounded, or run like hell. With photojournalism we can do none of these things.

I am not a boy and cannot speak for the delight they experience in shooting and killing enemies on screen with a malicious zeal and ease that is startling – until we consider our tribal roots and wonder how we have managed to suppress this instinctive brutality for so long. It does strike a parent oddly having such carnage going on in the living room.

Buerk wants to raise our awareness, and he is right to do so, but my feeling is that journalists and editors need to be scrupulously selective, to make the point that atrocities happen, but not to labour it so that we no longer hear the message.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

OLD JOY. Dir Kelly Reichardt. 2005

Dropout Kurt arrives in town and calls up his old friend, earnest father-to-be Mark to suggest a camping trip out in the forest, away from the city. They haven’t seen each other for some time and the film suggests a desire for intimacy as well as a quest for peace. Something of a lost soul, Kurt is emotional and, at times, to be pitied. He lives outside society, in a world of new age type retreats and travels, which seem to have left him out on the margins. In contrast, Mark has a home and a pregnant partner, and tunes his car radio in to phone-ins with much loud chat about the state of society in America but he seems only half alive. They drive out of town, with the camera as passenger, which gazes out of the car window while a gorgeous soundtrack by Yo La Tengo sets a mellow mood. The use of extended silence makes me a little uneasy; it’s hard to get away from memories of Deliverance, and a sense of apprehension. In the city, the glass of the car windows insulates us...

Ian McEwan. Amsterdam. London: QPD, 1998

McEwan’s novel about ambition, personal betrayal and revenge features Clive, a modern composer trying to complete a major orchestral work, his friend Vernon, an editor trying to save his ailing newspaper, and Garmony, an unscrupulous right-wing politician on the rise. In common, all three have, in previous years, been lovers of recently dead Molly. They meet at her funeral and the story follows the next few weeks of the men’s lives. Vernon and Clive act as one another’s conscience, each infuriating the other. Which is more important, honesty, friendship and trust or Vernon’s newspaper and Clive’s symphony? The novel presents the difficulties of balancing personal and public morality, the importance of private shame and public reputation, the conflict between taking a moral decision for the greater good, or putting first ones own desires. Not just a simple exposé of a politician with a vulnerable side, Amsterdam is full of double standards and surprises, and takes a long, cynical look a...

Ralph McTell, Truro, 19 April 2007

Ralph's mates from Pentewan have all turned up in a mini bus to hear him sing and play, and he walks onto the stage looking comfortable; he's amongst friends. He's a big man; very charismatic, with a warm smile and a beguiling aura of powerful gentleness. He's relaxed, we're relaxed, and he sits with his guitar, chatting easily between songs, and playing with an easy familiarity with us, and with his material. His guitar playing is intricate and playful; going from ragtime to blues to folk, and his voice is deep and rich. He comments that he's put together quite a serious programme for the two hours he's on stage; it's true that the lyrics are thoughtful and the subjects serious, but there is light material too; a tune about Laurel and Hardy, and one or two covers of old blues numbers. When he sings Streets of London there are happy sighs and the audience sing along very softly; as softly as a whisper. It feels as intimate as if we were just a few people...