For the first time in my adult life I cannot watch — or read — the news. Its presentation profoundly upsets me. I have not read, heard or watched the news from Israel/Palestine for over a week. I am afraid doing this has made me feel better. I have asked around and many other people are doing the same.
I would normally consider it shocking to not know what is going on elsewhere in the world. We owe it to common humanity not to ignore inhumanity, wherever it occurs. We should listen and at least sympathize, even if to no concrete purpose. The obligation on journalists is more specific; it is to supply the requisite information, which could be unpleasant to collect and convey. I have visited war zones and found it harrowing. Unspeakable horrors are occurring somewhere on Earth all the time. The media might only have space for just so much. When did you last hear about Sudan, the Democratic Republic of the Congo — or even Ukraine? Yet the effort must be made, not dodged.
Now we have the most intensive, 24/7 coverage of extreme violence that I could recall. The evening news coyly says that scenes are “too awful to show” and then that “viewers may find some scenes distressing,” as if to draw us from whatever else we are doing. This is tabloid television, offering a ghoulish gloss on what news ought to be about, which is facts and their informed interpretation. Yet it is assumed that we cannot handle this, and instead we are given endless vox pops with people on the ground. We need something to stir the emotions. In this respect, television is in a different league from radio and the printed press.
Horror fuels a dangerous instinct: that of blame. Since every vox pop from Gaza must be preceded or followed by one from Israel, viewers are drawn into arguments fueled by heat and not light. There is no history or background. Tearful victims get more time than decisionmakers or experts. After the blame comes the overwhelming sense of impotence. What can we do? Should we shout, march, write or shut up? Mostly, we feel sad and return to our lives, pretending nothing has changed. Or at least most of us do.
Psychologists tell us how to cope with bad news when it affects us personally. They advise us to analyze it, assess the risk, seek a way forward and take action. Yet that is when it is personal and we have some agency over events. The evils of the outside world are in a different mental sphere. We cannot do anything directly about them and must remain spectators of other people’s agony. During the COVID-19 pandemic, addictions to “doomsurfing” and “doomscrolling” soared. People obsessively monitored news of the pandemic by the hour. This led to sensations of fear, sadness and anger, and an increase in cases of depression and trauma. As with bad news generally, its appeal was said to be an evolutionary response to potential danger — humans crave a warning.
There must be a limit. It is one thing to be occasionally reminded of the suffering of others and of our own impotence when it comes to changing the world around us. I cannot see that relentless real-time depictions of horror is instilling any virtue. We — and our children — are expected to witness screaming, bleeding, angry people, night after night. This cannot increase public understanding of what is happening, only add to anger, discord and mental distress. I want to watch the news; what is being shown is something different.
Simon Jenkins is a Guardian columnist.
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