The two Australian DJs who pulled last weeks “prank” call to the British hospital where Kate Middleton had been admitted for morning sickness, must have been pleased with themselves. High fives, pats on the back, handshakes; worldwide attention, internet sensation. Sales Managers giddy as they boosted ad rates, station manager basking in a ratings glory.No doubt they were already plotting the next stunt, unwilling to relinquish the celebrity high.
The bubble burst with the news of Jacintha Saldanha’s suicide. The nurse at the receiving end of their harmless little joke had taken her life. Teams of public relations professionals and lawyers took over. Nursing an adrenalin hangover the station pulled the show off the air. The offending DJs issued a statement saying how devastated they were. Not nearly as devastated as Jacintha’s family.
My ponder is reality; or lack thereof.
Perhaps human nature is such that we will never rise above genetic programming. The Roman Coliseum replaced by the “reality” of Honey Boo Boo, Celebrity Rehab., the Botoxed housewives from hell. Reality media is an obsession. We feed on “reality” that looks to me like an M.C. Escher painting. We laugh at misfortune and excess, shake our heads in mock disbelief as Snookie gets into another bar fight.
All of us are responsible for Saldanha’s suicide. Time to leave the Coliseum behind. Reality may be difficult at first, but at least we will gain some self respect.