Don't Read All About It

I should preface this entry with a note of warning: many of these thoughts are not new to me, but this is the first time I have set them down. Please bear with their unsophisticated nature in some cases. There are some things you think and wonder about which are so delicate that they might best be kept private. Others are very sensitive but you feel the need to share. I'm not sure which camp this falls into; nor am I certain that I will be doing justice to the thoughts in my head. But this a blog, not a book. Publishers don't need to be impressed; sales don't matter; no one's reputation is at stake (as if I have one worth protecting!).

Learning of the explosions at the Boston Marathon this week, I soon became entirely swept up in the rolling news coverage. For a few hours of my life, it was the only thing that actually mattered - the only thing that was happening. My mind teemed with theories and the unfolding detail. I became irritated with those on the internet posting or talking about anything other than this story. I went through many of the emotions peculiar to tragic breaking news: shock, disquiet, sadness, anger, confusion, excitement (a darker reaction I'm not ashamed to mention, since I am certain I'm not alone in it). But among all of these there was still a sensation I've long had watching dramatic terroristic events befalling the West: a discomfort. I found it uncomfortable that my (quite legitimate) emotional response to Western tragedy is rarely, if at all, matched when I learn of bombings, attacks, genocide and the like in the non-Western world. I like to see myself as a sensitive, thoughtful man. And news from Syria or Mali in recent months has exercised and upset me hugely. And yet...

...I can catch myself almost rolling my eyes at a non-headline news item on the BBC website chronicling another car bomb or suicide attack in Iraq or Afghanistan. I will quickly give myself a virtual pinch and take a cursory look at the story. But often a home news item or some football gossip will take my fancy, and I'll move on. Here's the thing: I don't think for a second I'm the only one who experiences 'tragedy fatigue', or whatever the media studies folk are calling it this week. And I do think that if there were regular attacks on certain Western cities or regions, I'd just as likely find myself skipping the latest incident after a time. But it's more than simply an overload of bad things in certain parts of the world. There is, without a doubt, a cultural aspect to this. And this is where the discomfort really comes into its own.

I think we all (or at least all but the most self-aware and transcendent individuals) have a natural inclination to sympathise and identify with events occurring in parts of the world which most closely resemble our own day-to-day lives and cultures. Westerners are (either societally or through hard-wiring) going to be more upset by news of a bomb going off in a Western country. We will see shops and adverts and bustle - capitalism in all its glory - disrupted by ne'er-do-wells. And even if those 'evil-doers' are White Western 'lone nuts' rather than far-more-convenient fundamentalists, we still have more fellow feeling than with a comparable scene in a sandy Muslim city (for example). Admittedly, this analysis is somewhat crude, and I do not know enough African or Asian people to confirm whether they would feel the same in similar circumstances, but I will blunder on and suggest that even within the predominantly White Western world there will be stronger and weaker connections. Given the Special Relationship between the UK and the US, and America's enduring pop cultural hegemony, I will tentatively propose that it's likely more British people would be greatly affected by a bomb in the States than by one in, say, Italy or even another English-speaking nation like Australia. Writing entirely personally here, I now have more than a vested interest in Australia and certain Australians. But could I say - hand on heart - that twelve years ago an attack on Sydney would have affected me quite as strongly as the one in NYC? I'm really not sure. And maybe - increasing the magnification again - it's as much about cultural signifiers: something terrible happening in Los Angeles would probably be more powerful and affecting to us than an identical event in Detroit or Houston. Even if we haven't travelled there, then thanks to film, television and commercials we feel that we have a strong attachment to its landmarks and (by extension) its people.

Last but by far not least, we have the subject of what makes the bulletin, and where it sits in the list of priority stories. I'm aware that 'News Values' have long been an area of academic study (the work of the Glasgow Media Group was groundbreaking in its analysis of television newscasting). On the same day that 3 people died and over 150 were injured in the Boston blasts, there was a massive earthquake in Iran which killed at least 30 people in Pakistan and probably many more in the unforthcoming Persian state. That story did not break through most television bulletins, and sat a lowly fourth or fifth on the World News pages of most news websites. But the difference is not only cultural here, it's also practical. What makes a bigger story, and what will fill the rolling feeds: moment-by-moment footage of the aftermath in New England, or vague reports of multiple deaths in Asia? That said, I am almost certain that even had there been video footage of the devastating earthquake, the Boston story would still have headlined.

I don't want to draw definitive conclusions, especially from such broad brushstrokes. There remains the one thing I said earlier: human beings identify more readily with people with whom they have most in common. It's almost too facile to mention. But the ramifications regarding what affects and upsets us, what draws our empathy and concern, what we deem important and valuable in the world, is likely to be interesting and inconvenient.

Best Unfriends Forever!

What can a blog post about Facebook say about Facebook that hasn't been said before? This could be levelled at anyone saying anything about anything nowadays. Even before electronic media 'democratised' opinion and expression, Michael Stipe was suggesting you could "run a Carbon Black Test on my jaw/and you will find it's all been said before." Fast forward about 25 years (sweet Jesus, I am old) and most of us stand no chance positing anything even vaguely original.

This probably isn't the most enticing way to introduce some thoughts about social networking. But, given that you're equally likely to read unoriginal content elsewhere, you might as well stick with this; partly because you've already invested some of your life, so why not see it through, and partly because you might even enjoy yourself. Remember that?

Anyway, Facebook and social networking-based activities: it occurred to me this afternoon that I spend a significant proportion of my offline life thinking about my online life. I was minding my own business out in the Real World of carbon units and responsibilities, when I realised I was wondering about a few people who used to interact quite commonly with me on Facebook, who now do not. I went through a fairly steady process of downplaying ("It's only Facebook, it's not really life - get a grip, man!"), rationalising ("Is it not simply part of the warp and weft of FB that we find ourselves practically living on some people's pages, then we simply move on to others? All places in time are visited, Ad"), self-doubting (Have I said or done anything offensive of late to souls as sensitive as my own?), self-loathing ("In time, almost everyone gets bored of you, once they get the measure of you - and who can blame 'em?") and, finally, righteous indignation ("Fuck 'em! Do you really like 'em that much? Would you be friends with these people in The Real? Why not just unfriend the bastards - they annoy you most of the bloody time anyway! Bunch of wankers!!"). At the end of this frankly exhausting descent into irrational darkness, I found myself repeating aloud the one word: unfriend. Unfriend. Say it to yourself now: it's an ugly neologism. It's awkward. Contrived. Usually I say 'defriend', which befits the world of espionage and danger: it's not far from 'defuse' or 'detonate'. Much more North Korea than dusty laptop. But Unfriend is the official Facebook term, and there's a lot in that little word.

Have I 'unfriended' anyone offline, I wondered? Well, actually, yes. But it's rarely been such a complete, definitive, purposeful act. It's happened due to long-term neglect (usually mutual, sometimes unilateral) or as a result of a 'bust up'. But the bust up itself was never a conscious act to ensure future friendlessness. And even after the bust up, there were overtures from either side at different times, in an attempt at reconciliation. Things happened, like they do offline, messily and organically. This is very notably not the case online. Most things we do or 'say' are (to varying degrees, depending on the individual) considered or determined. This is the nature of having to type, to post, to wait for a reply, etc etc. We are not physically saying anything. In fact, most things we actually say - even when what comes out of our mouths is important (like at work, rather than down the pub with mates) - are directed by a general aim or argument, but do not require moment-to-moment surveillance. That spontaneity is missing online. And the 'Planned Project' aspect of social networking, where rules and boundaries, procedures and protocol are far more obvious and tangible than they are in offline interaction, make online friendships markedly different. You can Unfriend. This is reversible, but it's also instantaneous and clear-cut.

But what does that all mean? That doing things on a screen takes more thought and time than doing things in the outside world? Maybe. That the quality of a solely online friendship is necessarily different because of the delimited communication available? Very probably. Whether online relationships are inferior to 'real world' ones is another, larger, subject. And possibly for another time. I often think of Educating Rita, and Dr. Bryant's worldly-wise comment when Rita has decided to come back to study after dropping out and returning briefly to her old life: "Found a culture, have you Rita? Found a better song to sing? No, you found a different song to sing."

So: different. Not necessarily worse or better. But I can't help feeling, for all my fulminating and self-doubting and concern about the behaviour of my online mates from time to time, that there is something just too clinical and convenient about pressing the Unfriend button. I think we need the mess and the uncertainty of bloody, fleshy break ups. Like broccoli, we might not want it, but it's good for us.

You Are Here

Since writing so soon after news of Margaret Thatcher’s death had saturated every media outlet available to me, more specific (though hardly concrete) ideas have been swimming around in my head. Please forgive me the following meanderings.
The first thing is the concept of ‘opting out’, of not ‘picking a side’ or ‘taking a stand’, and how that is often construed as cowardly, non-committal, lacking in moral fibre; that – perversely in the postmodern age, with the death of overarching ideologies, where membership of Political Parties has fallen dramatically – there still appears to be something ‘wrong’ in not taking a firm line on what are essentially complex political, economic and social issues. Although fewer young people than ever subscribe to the concept of Parliamentary Democracy, there has been a rise in both single issue and ‘generic injustice’ movements (Occupy, 99 Percent, etc). So, despite the fact that it’s highly unlikely any single Party or even movement will reflect any one person’s beliefs on every single issue, there still appears to be a very human need to see others either as onside, or off. Ironically, this was one of Thatcher’s (arguable) strengths: you were either ‘one of us’, or you were out. People who are sure and determined are generally viewed favourably in Western society. Being clear cut and certain of mind usually go hand in hand with being a go-getter, a doer not a ditherer. We value those traits. Perhaps they are intrinsically attractive, and not just in men, with whom they’ve historically been associated (part of Thatcher’s appeal was that self-assurance, that lack of doubt, that Iron). Leave the reflection and the soul-searching to Prince Hamlet, this is the Real World. Here, you take stands.

I used to take stands: marches, demos, meetings. Things were simpler then. Camaraderie and concord were comforting. Is it part of that clichéd arc the conventional father condescendingly spiels to his revolutionary offspring: “Yes, it all seems so clear to you now: down with the Government, equality for all, blah blah blah. But you just wait – when you get older, things won’t seem so black and white”? I’m not so sure. I still have core political values. I still have a compass – an alarm ringing when things don’t sit right. A sense of (uh oh, here comes that word) justice. I’m not sure those values have changed overmuch. But there has emerged in me a recognition of lack of agency, of the sheer unfeasible complexity of almost every single major human undertaking. Yes, ‘bad men’ still do ‘bad things’, but - perhaps just as much - bad things happen despite good intentions. Experts claim to be able to predict the machinations of the market, of financial systems, international commerce. Time and again, they are blindsided or proved wrong. And that chaotic element in Economics is just as prevalent in the dynamics of political and social organisations. In fact, in the dynamics of basic human interaction. The grey; the nuance; the unexpected consequence. In this miasma, it’s so much easier to blame the Bad Guys (or Girls), to see The Dark Side at work. And sometimes the Bad Guys really are to blame. Just not enough for my comfort. And so, I find myself identifying more and more with the brooding Dane.

. . . . . . . . .

Postscript: At the risk of patronising (like the middle-aged dad to his ardent teenage kids), I have been wondering whether there’s something in those people expressing hatred for Thatcher and joy in her death, which is hungry for those days when they fought The Wicked Witch. Those simpler, clearer, younger days. A nostalgia akin to the Top of the Pops 19such-and-such or ‘100 Top Things of the Decade’ programmes. A perverse pleasure to be got from rehashing those divisive times, unearthing those primal feelings. Maybe a sense of feeling truly alive once again in expressing such pure emotion.

And for the record, I was - and still am – vehemently opposed to most of the tenets of Thatcherism. That really shouldn’t have any bearing on these musings, and my saying it at all possibly speaks more of my own human need to be seen to ‘stand’ somewhere.

When two tribes go to war...

As a young man, I opposed the Thatcher governments and Thatcherism wholeheartedly. As an older man, that mixture of rugged individualism, lack of societal sensibility and free market fetishism is still anathema to me. Like almost everyone, I didn’t know her personally, but everything I did and do know about her as a person does not warm me to her. Misunderstood she was not.

And yet, also as an older man, swathes of people exulting in her death makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I see faces bursting with hate and spitting venom as the accused are dragged to the guillotine or the noose. And I see the divisiveness for which she became synonymous in this country played out in the tribalism on my Facebook or television rolling newsfeeds. The demonisation or the hagiography. With ‘conviction politicians’ perhaps there is no other way. They are magnetic; they attract and repel in equal measure.

Which makes it difficult if you are not tribal. To see the damage wreaked by that woman’s policies, but also to be repelled by the bloodthirsty carryings-on. To be dreading the upcoming blanket media coverage (how many different ways can there be to present her humble beginnings, her history-making achievements, her game-changing policies, her bloody-mindedness, her fall, her legacy?). To endure the soon-to-be 'State Funeral – Yes or No?', 'Should there be another statue?', 'More important than Churchill?' debates. I may find myself watching The Voice UK or Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway on a constant loop to escape the din from both sides.

And this is not a ‘cop out’ position. It’s difficult and it’s inconvenient not to belong to a side when it comes to such things. There is no lofty pillar. There is simply recognition of complexity, ambiguity, grey.