Beaten-up by the news? Go fishing.

Recently, after just a single news bulletin I feel beaten-up. It commonly prompts an emotional journey that is similar to that of a ping-pong ball in a cyclone. Koalas dying – whack – Trump – whack – Israel – whack – Iran – whack – climate change – whack – taxes – whack – housing – whack – immigration – whack. One Nation, the World Cup, Trans issues, retail monopolies, tons of cocaine, here’s some pretty pictures of a quokka, then the sport and weather. Good night. All possibly important shit. Moreover, it is not necessarily just the content that is confronting.

Yes, I am upset that an electricity transmission corridor will hurt some koalas, but isn’t it a bit odd that those doing the complaining all own farms in the valley that have been entirely stripped of tree cover? Yes, Iran is despicable, but then Trump? Hamas is horrible, but so is Gaza. The recent tax changes push rents up, but also lower house prices? How can immigration be much of a problem when we are all immigrants? Except of course for the Aboriginals who, oddly enough, seem to be entirely transparent, mute, and absent. Thank heavens that Coles has been pounded with a wet lettuce leaf, we are now all free to shop wherever we want. And wow! Seven tons of cocaine. Lots of money. One measly kilo of scrappy looking grass that they say is worth $5000 dollars? Nice Quokka!

Then I stare off into the middle distance and think about nice things, far away, until I am once again centred. Which all prompts the obvious question: why? Why do I do this to myself? Why do I feel the urge to watch the whole of the news bulletin, allow myself to be emotionally raped on a daily basis, then spend the next twenty-three and a half hours trying to forget a lot of what I just witnessed? Are there other viable options?

I could harden the fuck up emotionally. But that is probably a fool’s errand. I write about and am interested in culture and community, which are both inexplicable without empathy. Art without empathy is just graphic design. Sex without empathy is assault. Only right-wing commentators live in a news broadcast; the rest of us inhabit a pretty diverse community full of lots of competing desires and ambitions. Plus, it is nice being nice. So ditching empathy is not a reasonable option. I would be broke and bored in a week.

Or I could seek out a nice left leaning news service and only attend to the bits I agree with. Which really amounts to be exposed to no news at all. Which does have its positive aspects, but it also seems to be a bit of a dead end. Perhaps it is an approach that is viable for holidays and travelling? But it also does mean that I might accidentally stumble into a war zone, or miss out on hearing about a tsunami or a cyclone. Nevertheless, on the positive side it would lead to a life without Trump, which is very much almost a game changer.

I could find religion? Or I could stop eating up hours of my regretfully short existence fretting about fretting so much? But that also sounds a little boring and possibly unattainable. I cannot have a cake and then eat it, publicly, thrice daily.

Or I can demand and work for a better system, even while ever fretting about everything and feeling like I am ever mired in a swamp of complexity and empathy? I could continue to refuse to believe any simple overriding explanations and instead be anxious and indecisive and take each case on its merits and treat each individual with due deference? Or, in other words, I can simply stop moaning about this topic and move onto another, and allow the status quo to continue. Which is highly likely.

All of which brings me to the unfulfilling crux of this sad unsettled diatribe, which centres on the observation that while I am getting beaten up by the news really badly, that is likely an indication of relatively good mental and emotional health rather than the opposite. Additionally, I suggest that anyone who is not affronted by the sheer volume of bullshit that is poured out on our airwaves and into newsprint every day, is simply not reading widely enough, or paying close enough attention. Or they are someone who have chosen to live in a cocoon, or who see themselves as an ideological warrior, or have decided to employ one handy explanation for everything. But for the rest of us I suggest that huge dollops of doubt and indecision can only be a good thing. It indicates that you still have a working brain.

Yet with that said; does it really have to be this difficult? Do we really have to talk about every possibly political subject as if we are all certified idiots? We do? Alright, there are some pretty damn ignorant and stupid people lurking in dark corners. But can’t we have just a few places where we can ditch all the spin and acknowledge that there a lot of different sides to every story and that there are three breeds of ‘right’ for every two available problems? No? No nuance allowed? Fuck.

Consequently, maybe feeling like a ping-pong ball in a cyclone is an entirely appropriate response for any reasonably aware sentient being living in a small Australian town at the moment. I personally feel a need to do more fishing and thinking about black holes. Elsewhere. Just for a little while.

Bye…

Avagoodweekend

Dr JiMM