Does it infiltrate my thoughts? Does it send ripples through my subconscious? Does it slither its way under my skin? Does it, that insidious It, that gulping leviathan, that universe-unto-itself, The Media, follow me to the classroom, the cash register, and the voting booth? God, I hope so.
It is universally understood that the media is responsible for all the world’s problems. And if that doesn’t fly, one shouldn’t have to look far for a neglectful parent to pin it on. I love an info-tainment exposé on the Unfair, Unrealistic and Utterly Dangerous Images of Women in the Media. Brought to you by ABC. It’s good to see checks and balances. But I like to be a devil’s advocate, and once in awhile speak up for those camera-toting, note-jotting, press-pass-wielding wolves in sheep’s clothing—that is, Journalists.
Of course, The Media is a vast empire, and regular old journalism only one colony. You have entertainment, you have news; and delightfully accessible combinations of the two. There’s TV, newspapers, film, documentary, radio, music videos, magazines, commercials, video games, websites, billboards, leaflets handed to you on the way to the grocery store by a representative from the neighborhood socialist chapter, etc. And there is no escape. And I acknowledge that good is mingled with bad, fact with bias, quality with obscenity, truth with tinsel. But I will always respect the right of the media to influence my decisions. I could not claim to be any sort of responsible human being if I did not.
Should I decide what opinion to have on stem cell research without researching the topic on the Internet—or without knowing who Michael J. Fox is? Should I decide what movies to see without watching the previews, without reading the reviews? Should I decide where to go to school without consulting a college catalogue? Should I decide what makes me laugh, without ever seeing an episode of Saturday Night Live? Should I decide who to vote for, without reading the candidate’s profiles in the paper or seeing them debate on network TV? And can I decide what really matters in the world, never witnessing an airplane crash into a building, and a tower, along with a century’s worth of illusions, come tumbling down?
All the really important things we’ll probably learn at school, or from our older siblings—what slang to use, how to dress, what phrases and people and desires and key chains are “So Last Week”. But the rest of it has to come from somewhere, and we have to acknowledge that we live in the world. We are here, and we are connected, and it is the muddy, messy media that connects us. You can’t make decisions without the influence of the media. Even the decision to retreat from its glare is only reactionary. There’s no need to get Orwellian. It’s tempting, here at the dawn of the 21st century, when we are all at least a little afflicted with apocalyptic mania—but face it, that’s just being melodramatic. Your mind may be your own Ministry of Truth, but it won’t be much use if you’ve got nothing to put in it.
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