[ No. 6 ]
Two tragedies, one lie
by Bert Cielen
About a year ago, on an otherwise unremarkable Saturday night, a black
Mercedes did what a tragic number of cars do on such a night: it had a
close encounter with an immovable object.
There was, however, one thing not so usual in this case: the car contained
a princess who, in spite of a stunning string of bad luck experiences and
erratic choices, was immensely popular. Actually, there WAS another unusual
feature about this accident: the car was allegedly under pursuit by a fleet
of frenzied journalists. Worse, they weren't just any sort of journalists,
but paparazzi, the most despised specimen of an already not so popular
trade.
For some strange reason, the immediate general consensus was that these
'parasites' had 'killed' Diana. And even though none of the paparazzi were
ever charged with any wrongdoing and although police subsequently confirmed
that the chauffeur's use of prescription drugs and alcohol was the most
likely cause of the accident, a large section of the public continues to
look upon every journalist as one of the 'vile scum who killed the people's
princess'.
About a month ago in Belgium, the country in which I live, a husband and
wife and their two children (19 and 22 years old), killed themselves in a
most dramatic way. They had even turned their house into a bomb by filling
it with gas -- a simple spark could have blown up much of the surrounding
neighbourhood. Unfortunately, such 'family suicides' have become all too
common and while the whole matter generated headlines for a day or two, the
focus quickly moved on to more pressing matters -- like the fact that the
Summer was already halfway through and there had been very little sunshine.
But about two weeks later, "Humo", one of the most popular magazines,
published an interview with the husband and wife that had been given only
days before their deaths. It was a grim tale of betrayal, ill-advised
business decisions, and an overdose of naivety. The most disturbing aspect
of the interview, however, was the way in which the parents repeatedly
dodged the question of whether their children were underage, and whether
they had actually agreed to join their parents in 'leaving this world
behind'.
Ingrid De Bie, the journalist, didn't trust the parents who had asked her
to swear to tell no one until they had carried out their suicide pact.
Against their explicit wishes, she contacted the mayor, asking him for
help: were there any underage children? Could he perhaps check up on the
family? Ingrid was convinced that the couple was serious about their plans.
The mayor contacted the family's doctor and several close relatives, but
all downplayed the problem pointing out that the couple had made similar
threats before, and anyway, they had just announced that they were going to
move to South Africa. Moreover, the mayor's office found evidence of only
one child, a 19-year-old boy.
Following the publication of the "Humo" article a huge storm arose among
the press and public opinion was united about one thing -- Ingrid De Bie
had not done enough to prevent this tragedy. She should have done more than
just call the mayor. Many expressed the belief that Ingrid should have
somehow talked these people out of something that they obviously were
intent on doing. She should have tracked down the children and confronted
them with their parents' plans, some argued.
So what is the connection between those two tragedies? The fact that in
both cases the press was vilified by 'the general public' even though they
did nothing in violation of the ethics of their profession. Moreover, in
both cases the journalists who were involved genuinely tried to save the
victims. In the case of Diana, journalists made the 911 calls and tried to
help out as best as they could. In the case of the suicidal parents, Ingrid
De Bie raised the alarm with the authorities.
But what's really disturbing about both of these cases is that while the
public railed against these 'oh so detested journalists', the newspaper and
magazine sales produced by this 'despicable trade' reached unprecedented
heights. Never has so much been written about Diana as in the weeks after
her death, and never has it sold so well. Likewise "Humo" reached record
sales in the city where the family lived. On the day of their burial most
newsstands in the village had barely any copies left. Even more astounding
was the way that certain newspapers -- who claimed to be the voice of an
angry majority in denouncing "Humo"'s 'sensationalist tactics' in
publishing Ingrid De Bie's article -- happened to be the same ones that had
the tragedy splattered all over their front pages the week before and
engaged in endless speculation about 'the how and why' of it all.
'It's human nature', you say? Yes, but perhaps it goes much deeper than
that. Why are journalists so often the scapegoat for this kind of double
standard? How do we explain this voracious hunger for the gross details of
human tragedy on the one hand coupled by a need to 'shoot the messenger' on
the other? Perhaps it has something to do with the media's role as a
mediator of public values. While the stories of these two tragedies feed
our private need to experience or identify with the things that we fear
most -- such as unforeseen death or suicide -- we also expect the media to
be part of the social order that we rely on to moderate our fear. That's a
heavy burden for a society to lay on an individual journalist or
photographer.