empathy porn

One evening last December as I was driving home from work, I reached over to turn on the radio.  I only listened a few moments before I realized I was hearing a live broadcast of a memorial service for one of the children killed in the Newtown tragedy.  I turned it off.  I recall so vividly that stretch of road, the lights on the wet pavement, the sound of that voice in my car, the visceral horror.

At that time, I was waiting for my own son to return from his study abroad in Thailand.  At different junctures over those months that he had been away, he traveled in the mountains, camping in villages where there was no electricity, so he had been incommunicado for several weeks at a time.  I am terrible about calling and writing, but not being able to reach him was hard.  Waiting for his return was hard.  I was so keenly aware that our separation was temporary, and the discomfort of that separation was only a tiny echo of the ache I felt knowing that so many children, wee children, would never come home — my heart broke for those parents.

As sympathetic as I was, I could not listen to that memorial.  It felt invasive, intrusive.  And I was a little bit angry at the presumption that this was "news" that we, the rest of the world, were entitled to hear.

Yesterday we were sucked into the Boston Marathon news for a few hours before I realized that there would be no new news for a while, and that I was putting our lives on hold to follow events to which I had real but no immediate connection — all my people were safe and unharmed.  I turned off all our devices.

I understand that our connections are undeniable, that the human community is bound up in mysterious and lovely ways, and that a tragedy that occurs far away may, in fact, subtly or directly effect us all.  And at the same time, following every minute detail in the unfolding drama does no good, cannot staunch the horror for the victims.  Perhaps it is also human nature, the darker aspect of our connectedness, that motivates an extreme voyeurism, because it does sell.  

I do not judge the folks who give themselves over to the media during tragic events, but I recognize that for myself there is a tipping point where I am no longer seeking information in order to be an informed citizen, but, rather, I am participating in a kind of empathy porn.  Yesterday, there was something about the use of the word "twin," as in "twin bombings," too reminiscent of "twin towers," that made me feel dirty, like I was being manipulated.  

It has taken me a long while, well into my adulthood, to recognize where that tipping point is, but it seems to be when information begins to take my energy rather than give me the tools I need to move forward.  And at a time like this, those of us who can have an obligation to do our little best to hold up the light, bring kindness and compassion into our worlds.