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Biting the Hand That Feeds
Commentary
by Justin Ludwig
The Carillon
Hostile rhetoric serves as the eulogy for the death of news
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We are all global patrons of the Over-Information Age. Twenty-four hour news channels and reality programming are a staple that we have all become far too familiar with. There are half-truths sold on the info-market and voted on in polls. So where, amidst the shock and awe, has all the real news gone?
I watch CNN religiously and will be the first to admit it. I admire the pageantry and am constantly perplexed by the subjective eye of corporate news. I get information from the station the same way I do from the Daily Show: each comes with a grain of salt, it’s just that Jon Stewart acknowledges his fictive stance.
Virtually all evening news broadcasts have fallen victim to the hype monster, a ravenous beast that places analytical reporting behind fantastic images of ultra-violence. This argument is all but redundant, I suppose, but the general apathy towards the situation bears its repetition. Why has the arm of entertainment infiltrated a medium that should seek to inform?
I still have the most faith in the CBC. It simply has the least to lose, as well as the least to gain from vested corporate interest. I believe what Peter Mansbridge says, and that is a quality lost on almost all recognizable journalists. Still though, I have generally learned to treat the news as I would any blockbuster with a broad audience: to serve merely as a time capsule for how people today perceive and translate would-be information.
Even in this very paper, the Carillon, my opinion does very little as far as substantive journalism. The Opinions section, the paper’s strongest, is merely poetry and often misworded but well-intentioned diatribe. Unfortunately the nature of a weekly paper itself prevents the Carillon from providing a genuine news source beyond inter-campus affairs. No one gave a shit about Welcome Week stories in their high school newspaper; I certainly hope no one still does.
My faith still lies firmly in print journalism. While still in a competitive market, the absence of ratings maintains a certain degree of purity. The ability to sensationalize still abounds; however, a headline, no matter how catchy, doesn’t bring with it theme music and a pretty face.
Poetry stirs in violent diction. For reasons beyond me there is nothing more pure and colourful in language than describing that which is humanity’s most despicable. As well, I am a firm believer in fighting fire with fire.
Perhaps my cynicism has, in this case, gotten the best of me. Perhaps I am far too content holing myself away while petty word deviates create falsehoods in which, sadly, I cannot share. Or perhaps it’s all real, and I simply am not there.
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