“When [tragic news] happens closer to home, it’s a very different story,” writes New Zealand-based journalist Jehan Casinader. In his very last blog post of 2010, he asks big questions of Kiwis’ motivations for following three of the biggest news stories of 2010: the Chilean mine incident, the Pike River mining disaster, and the Christchurch earthquake. Casinader puts it out there:
The cynic in me believes many Kiwis were only interested in the Chilean mine crisis because of the compelling twists and turns in the rescue saga. Would they live? Would they die? Did Kiwis follow that story because they cared? Or because of the drama, the tragedy and the triumph?
He says he can’t answer that question for all New Zealanders. I can speak for myself, and I have to confess that for me, it was simply for the drama of it all. It is my hunch that for the great majority of Kiwis who followed that story, it was probably the same. It was because of the chilling suspense that I sat transfixed at my laptop urging the drama to unfold in whatever way it may. The result of the story meant little to me here in Japan. My everyday life would go on unchanged regardless of the outcome. Had the story ended a tragedy, I would have received just as much a rush of emotion as I had when the last miner was pulled from that inglorious hole. I would have massaged the internet cable attached to my computer should it have got the gripping content to me faster.
Of course, there’s nothing surprising about this. This is the way we are wired. Or, to put it more succinctly, have become wired. Our mediums of information requires this of us. The late Neil Postman, a brilliant media critic of his time, brings this into perspective. He suggests in his book Amusing Ourselves to Death (1985), that ever since the emergence of the telegraph in early US history, those of us fortunate enough to become mass consumers of information have become addicts to disjointed, context-free, irrelevant information. Information which has endless value as entertainment. Before electronic transferal of information, in a time when information from afar was conveyed across distance only with an extreme investment of time and sweat, “what people knew about had action-value.” People knew because the had to know. The telegram, on the other hand, “sent information which answered no question we had asked, and which, in any case, did not permit the right of reply…facts push other facts into and then out of consciousness at speeds that neither permit nor require evaluation” (Postman, p.69-70).
In this sort of world, context-free and very often irrelevant facts are supplied to the public in an endless fashion, and are indeed by their very quantity and nature extremely entertaining. With the advent of television news (and by extension I would include internet news feeds – a medium that, in my opinion, quite effectively fools us into believing that we’re becoming better informed), where, as Postman put it, “the overarching presumption is that [the television] is there for our amusement and pleasure,” we are no longer horrified by the images we see on the screen. We are, rather, momentarily moved, but torn out of any state of reflection or catharsis as soon as possible by the next piece of fact. I agree with Postman where he tosses electronic media a bone: all this is not due to some dark conspiracy on the part of the news station. The medium of television requires that information be provided in this way. Any other way would go against the very model upon which the media thrives. Fact followed by fact, image followed by image; a world dominated by a “now…this” television metaphor is indeed a stage. The value of information has, over the last century or so, experienced a marked shift from one kind of value to another.
It follows therefore that it is understandable the fact that New Zealanders were truly and deeply halted in their tracks with news of disasters in their own back yards. The fact that the Pike River disaster and the Christchurch earthquake moved them to a much deeper level than an irrelevant yet gripping story of intrigue from the other side of the planet, is hardly surprising. The information had action-value. It gave people a sense of responsibility. A sense of action-needed. It wasn’t just another snippet of juicy irrelevant entertainment-news from who-cares-where-so-long-as-it’ll-scare.
And now the question. Hard-hitting local news: will it create the neural pathways required to re-wire our brains from a “now…this” mentality when consuming seemingly irrelevant context-free news? Will it create mental connections that will allow us to see the humanity of far-flung suffering, as depicted on our computer screens? Can it jolt us into at least an uncomfortable feeling of required action that lasts longer than just the 7pm news ending credits? I, too, hope it will.