Media Crit

The media is awful. Public opinion polls from the media itself usually shows trust in media at the bottom of the barrel, at the same level as injury lawyers or members of Congress. People have different reasons for distrusting it. Growing up, you might watch a lot of local news, even get excited when your neighborhood gets mentioned. I remember morning news on weekdays getting ready for school and learning about different fun things around my city. It helped me feel like I knew my city better than I otherwise could’ve just exploring on my own. Then you grow up. Some people don’t trust the media because they think its biased against their political preferences. You’ll find people of pretty much every political persuasion claiming this in one way or another, which begs the question (is that how you use that term?) of which political persuasion the media adheres to. The standard Marxist critique is that media is an expression of corporate power and aligns with corporate interests. Big corporations own media companies so that shouldn’t be so hard to follow. I used to believe that.

Some people lose their trust in media when they become the subject of it. It might not even be a hit piece or smear job. It could be some basic reporting that’s just totally wrong. I remember sitting for an interview for my college paper, and they botched all the quotes up. It wasn’t political, they were just sloppy. So I was always a little skeptical that these big bulky corporations that sometimes seem like they don’t even know what they’re doing could exert that kind of granular control on media outlets. I’d suspected for some time that the media was stupid because we’re stupid. They give us what we want, and that’s a blessing and a curse.

I knew for sure when I became the center of attention after the assassination attempt. They didn’t care one bit for Blynken, Wynken, Nod or Josiah’s political commitments. Instead it was about me. My summer work in California, which I’d done in previous summers, was pointed to as evidence of some kind of falling out between me and the three stooges and Josiah. The closest they got to it politically was insinuating we were in some kind of cult, but the insinuations were more romantic. The media wanted something salacious. A lover’s quarrel, between Blynken and me, apparently, or Blynken and Josiah and me. The police were lambasted for cutting me loose, but the way the media treated them only made them double down. Where Badger initially had to kind of convince the police investigating me was a dead end, the media’s wild theories put the police brass in bunker mode. Of course they didn’t make any mistakes. They had the right people in custody and they weren’t going to go on a witch hunt.

Badger was curiously not a big part of that media circus, even though as the target of the attempted assassination she was a main character. Badger was still accumulating power and influence, but she had already become powerful enough to make certain talking heads think twice before talking their heads off about her.

So the little exchange on the evening news was just the beginning. Local paparazzi, I didn’t even know we had such a thing, started following me around. I’d wanted to go to City Hall to try to see Badger again, but I only got a few blocks from my home before I noticed a couple of photographers were following me, a short fat one and a tall lanky one a little bit behind me.

-Where are you headed? the closer one asked in a deceptively friendly manner.

-I’m just taking a walk to--I started answering honestly before catching myself. I’m just taking a walk. What are you doing?

-Taking some photos in case the local papers are interested.

-In me?

-Oh yeah, the photographer said. Big hero, tried to save a councilwoman, he laughed, his belly groaning. Are you a fan of Badger?

He didn’t know anything about my feelings toward Kendra, he couldn’t have. He was just fishing, like a paparazzo.

-No, she’s a fascist, I shot back.

-You wanna talk about it on the record? the other photographer chimed in, pulling out a raggedy reporters’ notebook.

-Everything’s on the record, the first one quipped.

-Listen, man, I started. I don’t have time for this, I—

-Why? Where are you headed? The one with the notebook was asking questions.

I remembered what Kendra told me, not to engage, so I just started walking faster, but the two papparazo kept up with me.

-Yo, stay away from me, I finally said as I turned around, swatting at one of their cameras.

-Watch it buddy, the fat photographer scowled. That’s an expensive piece of equipment.

-I’ll knock it off your neck if you don’t knock it off and leave me alone, I shot back.

I wasn’t kidding but he thought I was, and took a step closer to me.

-Get off me, I yelled at him as I swatted at the strap around his neck and shoulder holding his camera, sending it to the ground where it didn’t make quite as loud a sound as I’d thought.

-Hey! the photographer yelled. That’s expensive, you’ll pay for that.

-Like I have the money, I laughed. It felt good to take a little control. I was more aggravated they and theirs were going to make it impossible to try to visit Kendra at City Hall than I thought, and letting it out on the camera was a relief. I didn’t want to hurt the photographer. On some level I know he was just doing his job, even though it was basically a parasitical one.

Maybe I should’ve took a swing at him instead. The cops showed up—the second photographer must have called them.

-What’s the problem here? one of the cops asked no one in particular.

-Destruction of property! Destruction of property! the fat photographer yelled, pointing at me.

-Hey man, I was just, like defending myself.

The other cop had picked up the camera on the ground. The lens was completely cracked.

-When you’re defending yourself, you go after the threat, not expensive equipment, the first cop quipped at me as he started putting handcuffs on me.

I couldn’t believe it. I had managed to stay out of police custody through more than a year of strangeness and now I was being placed under arrest and it didn’t even occur to me that that was a way the interaction with the photographers could’ve ended. What do the cops care about some photographer and his camera? Let his company buy him a new one.