What has one eye, six legs, about ten feathers, and foams tirelessly at the mouth?
Yep, you guessed it: the American media! This is not a critique of that media mind you… what it is is a rejection of the sort of mass “sadness” that seems to follow whenever strikes. Now, what is the difference between a and a “tragedy”? The answer I’m sorry to say is that the latter is a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; whereas a is a lamentable affair which afflicts a large group that reminds people of themselves.
I know I’m being insensitive, and perhaps even a prick, but I am being myself. When I see an outpouring of grief or a virtual font of sappy treacles like I’ve seen in the last thirty-six hours I don’t think of the victims (at least, the press and sentiment doesn’t cause me to think of them, the events however do,) and I don’t think of the killer; I think of the millions of people who don’t give a rat’s ass about the homeless person who freezes to death in the bus shelter down the street (a sign of my continuing decline… I originally typed streat) or the starving children in Mexico City, which is a giant slum punctuated by intermittent wealth.
It doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to recognize that people empathize more with people that they can relate to than to those they can’t. What never ceases to amaze me is the way that people “come together” in their collective faux-grief nowadays. Fear of death is a profoundly personal experience, and I just can’t explain this coming-togetherness process whenever there is an over-the-horizon without saying that people are deliberately evincing grief as part of some twisted social behaviour. Is it possible that we pride ourselves on our ability to appear empathetic and sensitive?
I know it’s a cynical view to take, but I can’t formulate a better theory. Any takers?
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