March 1, 2006--Welcome Home!
I was out of the country for the month of February and as a reflex made the mistake of turning on the local TV news after being back in New York for less than an hour.
Popping up on the screen was an image that looked like an abstract painting—sort of like a Jackson Pollack but mainly in pastel colors. Naively, I thought maybe it was something that brought a record price at a recent auction at Sotheby’s. No, it was a Springmaid bedspread of the sort that had been used to wrap the body of a murdered graduate student.
She had been sexually assaulted, tortured, and left for dead, wrapped in such a bedspread at a desolate spot in Brooklyn. This was the lead story. Rather than turn it off I found myself leaning forward to absorb more details. And they were eagerly provided, including the kind of clear tape that bound her head, hands, and feet.
I caught myself in this voyeuristic act, since that was in fact what it was, because I still had a shred left of the peace and calm that I had acquired while away and as a result had enough consciousness to be aware of what I was doing. (I suspect that a week from now, maybe even later today, that shred will evaporate and I will not notice my undistracted attention to comparable brutal “news.”) And I wondered why do so many of us find these stories so riveting, even while protesting that the TV and tabloid news is so full of them? What’s the fascination? Do we want to have our fears confirmed—that it is fact a dangerous world? Do we want to feel, but for the grace of God that could have been me or a friend or relative? Or do we just take some unspeakable pleasure from the luridness?
Thinking that though so-called news shows of this kind have figured out the perverse demographics of how to play the ratings game and why stories such as this lure viewers, even those who declare their disgust at such coverage, I thought I would find some respite when after a month away there would be the sanity and high seriousness of the NY Times waiting at my door.
But then there too was the story featured prominently, with a full color photo of the victim in 2000 sitting radiantly beside a waterfall (see the link below for the story and photo). And the Times as well worked in all the gruesome details—the tape, the sock that had been stuffed in her mouth, the mutilations, everything.
So we are calling our travel agent as soon as possible. Actually, maybe I need to reconnect with my shrink!
Popping up on the screen was an image that looked like an abstract painting—sort of like a Jackson Pollack but mainly in pastel colors. Naively, I thought maybe it was something that brought a record price at a recent auction at Sotheby’s. No, it was a Springmaid bedspread of the sort that had been used to wrap the body of a murdered graduate student.
She had been sexually assaulted, tortured, and left for dead, wrapped in such a bedspread at a desolate spot in Brooklyn. This was the lead story. Rather than turn it off I found myself leaning forward to absorb more details. And they were eagerly provided, including the kind of clear tape that bound her head, hands, and feet.
I caught myself in this voyeuristic act, since that was in fact what it was, because I still had a shred left of the peace and calm that I had acquired while away and as a result had enough consciousness to be aware of what I was doing. (I suspect that a week from now, maybe even later today, that shred will evaporate and I will not notice my undistracted attention to comparable brutal “news.”) And I wondered why do so many of us find these stories so riveting, even while protesting that the TV and tabloid news is so full of them? What’s the fascination? Do we want to have our fears confirmed—that it is fact a dangerous world? Do we want to feel, but for the grace of God that could have been me or a friend or relative? Or do we just take some unspeakable pleasure from the luridness?
Thinking that though so-called news shows of this kind have figured out the perverse demographics of how to play the ratings game and why stories such as this lure viewers, even those who declare their disgust at such coverage, I thought I would find some respite when after a month away there would be the sanity and high seriousness of the NY Times waiting at my door.
But then there too was the story featured prominently, with a full color photo of the victim in 2000 sitting radiantly beside a waterfall (see the link below for the story and photo). And the Times as well worked in all the gruesome details—the tape, the sock that had been stuffed in her mouth, the mutilations, everything.
So we are calling our travel agent as soon as possible. Actually, maybe I need to reconnect with my shrink!
posted by Steven Zwerling at
11:31 AM
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