I’ve been unable to do much all day. I’m not an obsessive television watcher and deliberately did not switch on the tv. But there’s a surfeit of information right here on the Internet and not knowing felt worse than knowing too much. Also, suddenly, a lot of other things seemed trivial: deadlines, applications, regular things. I know they’re life affirming but they also felt like sand for the ostrich’s head. The city I grew up in and love very much was burnt and bleeding. It was hard to turn away from the sight even if all one could feel was helpless anguish. And a suspicion that I don’t even have a right to all this anguish. After all, it is a home left behind.
So anyway, my thoughts have been all over the place. One was that even those of us condemning media hysteria were clearly tuned in (how would we know what was happening otherwise?) , just possibly through alternative media. So the information overload that comes in for so much criticism at a time like this is a double-edged knife. Because much as we hate it (in ourselves and in others), there is a need to know.
24/7 news channels feed this need with endlessly repetitive (read looped) footage, breathless sensationalising and plain stupidity. Last night, I almost laughed out loud in disgust to hear the excitement in a young journalists’s voice as he talked about how many were dead. (I understand you’re going on pure adrenalin right now boy, but can you try to sound less thrilled?) Then, of course, there is the giving of valuable information right onto the screens of terrorists like Sridala and Falstaff have pointed out. So there are several questions here: how much should they cover, how frequently or continually should they air it, and in what manner should they deliver the news? When does fatigue set in? What constitutes voyeurism? When does one person’s tragedy become another person’s flavour of the day? How can this sort of event be reported without giving it action-movie treatment?
I also thought about what my dear friend OJ said on chat this morning: “I’m safe but they wrecked our home”. She meant the city. The city as home. By targeting such iconic buildings, they’ve managed to make people feel that sense of wreckage. Of deprivation. It’s like walking into someone’s house and smashing what they’re most proud of.
Then, the layers of grief that come through at times like this. There is, of course, the immediate and terrible kind when you actually lose someone dear or are directly involved. Then there is the kind that is more removed, the sadness and anger that one feels when anything of this sort happens — loss, destruction, death. Empathy for human suffering. Somewhere in between lies the ‘removed personal’, the city as home. You’ve lost nobody and are unhurt but it is still personal. You’ve identified with the fabric of a place. The fabric is being ripped. It takes you from sad to irrational sad. Hasty sad. Even dangerous sad.
I found this emotional spectrum quite clearly on display in chat and FB status messages and blog posts. At one point, I found myself (irrationally?) angry with friends who seemed oblivious to what was happening and were talking about other things. Parties, dinners, concerts. Do they live under a rock?, I found myself wondering. What is wrong with them? Then I reminded myself that they’re just at another point on the spectrum. It feels less immediate to them, and less personal. I stopped being angry and settled for disturbed.
And yes, my post at Guardian Cif.
