02-News Blackout

While walking the dogs about four am on Wednesday, less than forty hours distant from the explosions, I was listening to the BBC. The topic: is the media spending too much attention on Boston? From all over the world, the correspondents unanimously agreed: no. At that initial point, the world's interested was fixed. But throughout the broadcast, the BBC played a string of man-on-the-street interviews questioning why three deaths in America are more “important” than X number in X country. The host stressed that no human life is less important than another; he stated, we cover Boston because of the magnitude of the story.

But at this early stage, so soon after the bombing, I wondered if the question itself was appropriate? I can't say whether the BBC was being insensitive but I can say it made me think. What if I asked the question? It's clear: for any citizen to ask such a question at that time would be more than insensitive, it would be disrespectful. But why? As I walked, I thought.

I realized, to ask that question, or to a lesser degree, to even consider not exclusively covering the story like a big comfortable blanket, spread across the nation, felt wrong, especially in those first few hours. I realized, to do any differently would feel like we'd somehow turned our backs on the victims. It's too soon. We hold on so tight. I was a constant caregiver for my father for fifteen of his last years until he passed, in my arms, at the age of eighty-six years old. I understand what it means to hold on to those we've lost. But how many days or weeks must pass before the BBC's question becomes relevant to any big story?

Remember the days after New York (the last, biggest story)? How many hours passed between the first report and the first commercial? It was non-stop. I remember the image of Randy's wife (South Park) as she lay on the couch, watching the coverage. The constant string of reports, maps, graphics, scrolls, bullet points, polls, interviews, expert opinion, and official updates, create a news blackout, a kind of comma of catatonic sadness and silence. The one, big story becomes the only story.

We consume these blackouts like an engrossing TV crime series taking place over days instead of hours. And it’s on all the time. No need to wait for the next episode. Just don't miss anything. We pray the breaking news continues to break until concluded with the bad guy dead or in jail. Deep down, we hope the blackout will have meaning, that all the time we've spent engaged will be rewarded; we yearn to see the light finally shine through.

For the first time, it has; and it has because we live in a time with no historical precedence. The mountain of publicly captured data paired with advanced, data mining technology found the two faces in days. The unprecedented speed of identification, the unprecedented manhunt, the unprecedented spectacle has set a new standard for blackout news. It's as if TV's fiction has become TV's fact. What will this do to our future expectations?

In light of this “new normal,” I wonder how long until the next big story, the next blackout? In this modern day of twenty-four hour, cable news feeds, the vast, infinite Internet, instant Google searches, updated Twitter feeds, friends Facebook pages, engaging Tumbler photos, etc., I ask; how long will this culture of network news blackouts last? To paraphrase the BBC host, ratings follow the zeitgeist of the story. Both the medium and the message have become on-demand. Smart phones. Google Glass. People will have less and less time for repetition as their choices narrow to fit their personal narrative. The blackout has become internalized. Increasingly, the networks parrot more immediate media and decreasingly, they share in the proportion of interest.

There is something special about watching the same broadcast, together as a nation. In my childhood this was common; there were only three networks and PBS. In those days, the zeitgeist was a two-dimensional table, not a four-dimensional tree. In this modern day, there are few opportunities outside of these tragedies to come together as one nation under the ubiquitous news blackout. Ingesting the same story glues us together during rough times and fun times: it's probably a shame I can only list three fun-times the networks provide: stories, sports, and politics (or, truth, joy, and lies).

And after thinking this over, I realize that during the space of any blackout, there's one way to see something else: do something else. Switch off the box. Take a break from the blackout by engaging the light of day. Enjoy your family in play or simply watch an uplifting movie you haven't seen in awhile. Pick one you love– one that helps you remember there are plenty of good times. Let go. Be free and do what I do: never consider turning away from the victims; instead, focus on turning towards the sources of love in your life, the activities and people (both human and other) that matter. It's up to each of us to walk away without feeling like we're turning away. And when we're ready, the big story will still be there for us when we switch it back on.

Thanks,

Jaxon Cohen