I must confess that I am a news junkie. Honestly, I can’t seem to tear myself away. So pathological a consumer of news am I that when I run out of actual news, I watch pathetic pseudo-news like Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood. However, I am pleased to report that I have not had to resort to pseudo-news for quite some time, because these days there seems to be an actual news story every five minutes, and cable news does not confine itself to a mere half-hour in the evening as was the case before the advent of cable, when all we had were black-and-white televisions and three channels. Well, four if you count PBS, but that required the painstaking adjustment of rabbit-ears.
My news obsession drives my partner of 25 years straight up the wall. I have avoided being thrown out of the house only by discretely positioning a Prozac atomizer behind a curtain in the living room. Nevertheless, I am often on thin ice.
In spite of my addiction, this weekend for the first time in a long time, I turned off the news. I had to. I simply could not endure the endless repetition of the graphic videos showing Paul Pelosi having his brains beaten out by a homicidal, hammer-swinging maniac, or the hideous footage of Tyree Nichols being savagely beaten to death by five Memphis police officers during what appeared to be a routine traffic stop.
How graphic does the news really need to be in order to provide timely and specific information to viewers? I say this with the full awareness that the video of George Floyd being strangled to death by officer Derek Chauvin in 2020 sparked an awareness, finally, about the egregious use of deadly force directed at Black citizens in this country. As you may remember, there were as almost as many White citizens as Black citizens who filled the streets in the summer of 2020, demanding justice and badly needed police reform. The video created long-overdue, universal outrage. Many of us finally, finally, got the memo when confronted with the Floyd video. In my view, this was a good thing. We all needed to wake up and smell the coffee.
But when does the endless screening and repetition of brutally graphic videos cross the line and become gratuitous, salacious, and callous? Nancy Pelosi begged the court to withhold the video of her husband almost being killed in his own home. Wasn’t there enough family trauma without seeing that horrible event rerun on television ad nauseum? Regardless of what one thinks of Nancy Pelosi as a public figure, isn’t there a line that should not be crossed? And what about Tyree Nichols’ family? How would any of us feel about a film depicting a horrific, fatal attack on a loved one, endlessly rerun hour after hour, day after day, on every news station in America?
Secondary to these considerations, how can any trial of the individuals responsible for this carnage go forward when defense council can argue, logically, that there are no untainted jurors to be found anywhere? At this point, who hasn’t seen those videos?
Well, I haven’t. The narrative descriptions were all I needed. I have an imagination equal to the task. Truth be told, I can’t even bring myself to watch the nature programs preferred by my beloved partner, because I live in dread of seeing one of nature’s creatures tearing apart another. I have no appetite for graphic depictions of any sort of violence. None.
I deeply hope that within the next day or two, the incessant and profoundly disturbing displays of graphic violence will finally end. Although my partner is undoubtedly grateful for the unaccustomed peace and quiet, I am already experiencing the symptoms of serious withdrawal. Symptoms include agitation, restless pacing, and watching reruns of Millionaire Matchmaker.
The fact that I just admitted to resorting to reruns of Millionaire Matchmaker suggests that I should stop writing now, go into the living room, stand beside the Prozac atomizer, and inhale deeply.
