Picture – Kings College, London
The world is bearing down on me. I can no
longer endure the endless stream of news about wars and destruction, genocides
and the killing of children—matters over which I have no control and can do
nothing to stop. My health is being eroded; despair breeds depression.
What makes it worse is the way the media
delivers these horrors. Headlines are crafted not to inform but to provoke. Death
and destruction are narrated as sport with the same kind of commentary.
I refuse to be consumed by this. I have
found a way of staying out of the world while still participating in its
affairs. I shall not turn on the news from any source—radio, television, or the
internet.
Or the continuous stream of forwarded
messages.
I shall be a recluse. And I will not lose
much, because what passes for “news” today is less about informing than about
sensationalising.
Even when you ought to be alerted to
something that truly matters—say, a meteor tearing down space onto your
roof—the urgency gets buried beneath the carnival of exaggeration.
The alternative media, in particular, make
a feast of every fragment: attractive, but empty of substance. Headlines are
bait, analysis is shallow, and outrage is manufactured to keep us scrolling.
The noise drowns out the signal.
So how shall I be involved with the world?
Fortunately, I have a daughter and young
friends. I shall contract with them to inform me of any meteors, two-headed
men, or other matters that demand attention.
They will advise me when I should sign a
petition, add my name in protest, or lend my voice in agreement. In that way, I
shall remain a recluse, but with trusted editors to filter the world and alert
me only when conscience calls.
