After the tragic passing of Anna Nicole Smith and her son under less than conspiratorial circumstances, the media world has be ravaged with a virtual plague of front page news articles that is only now waning in the setting sun of a new week. It reminds one of an Alaskan winter when the sun refuses to set, but bores into the psyches of those
forced to endure it. But, along the lines of the Mrs. Smith, no one has asked the question that has constantly been gnawing ferociously at the back of my mind like some ravenous femur monkey on heroin withdrawal: who cares?
I don't mean to come across as an uncaring, Nazi sympathizing, child-murdering nihilist. Maybe I am. Yet, I still ask, who really cares? Why have we devoted so much news coverage to such a trivial, unremarkable subject? Have we become so celebrity addicted that we need to cram whatever menial modicum of drivel that crawls out of that cesspool of glitz down our mouth or die of dehydration? Are we so obsessed and, better yet, lifeless, apathetic of our own apparently worthless existences, to dedicate so much news to a woman who's only claim to fame is her ability to strip off her clothes and dive for shrimp on the billionaire cruise line? I beg one to answer one thing: what has this woman done for society to deserve this magnitude of coverage. And, if you say her reality television show or Naked Gun 331/3: The Final Insult, I'll challenge you to a no holds barred fistfight. Knives if you want. Hell, I'll even up it to chainsaws.
I think, more than anything else, society should be outraged at such an audacious display of professional journalism gone awry. Where is the news coverage on the hundreds of innocents dying daily in Darfur? The ethnic power struggle developing into war in Somalia? Russia's blatantly overt climb through the grasp of Putin away from a democratic state? China's harvesting of prisoner's organs without permission? The very war that rages right now, funded by this very nation, against an allusive, faceless enemy that appears to those, not punch-drunk with nationalistic denial, as a fight that we may wage for the rest of our lives? Why do those headlines not bombard us in a daily onslaught of reality that shakes us to core? Oh, that's right, we still don't know how Anna Nicole Smith died. Sometimes a scale isn't enough to show how ludicrous off balance things can become.
Journalistic credibility is a gladiatorial sport of mental strength and culpability. But, sometimes, when society becomes swept up with an inconsequential wave such as this, the sport becomes nothing but a petty cockfight with no real winner, neither the readers, nor the journalists. Even Mrs. Smith.
Yet, the newspaper sales, like free drinks at a singles' dance, flow like a waterfall. And, yet, I ask who holds the corporations that own the newspapers, which still sell in record numbers, accountable for their miscarriage of information to the public if either side, society and journalists alike, is willing to wallow in mediocrity and merely accept what they're fed, asking:
"Please, sir, may I have some more?"
WORLD - AN EDGE IN MY VOICE
Copyright © 2010 Wild Bill
Anna Nicole Smith and Journalistic Integrity Mourned
Copyright © 2010 Wild Bill
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