Falling out of love with tabloids
Flicking through the pages, I get the feeling that a great deal of meanness remains
The tabloids and I, we’ve had a chequered past to say the least. I grew up on a diet of the Daily Mail, yet it wasn’t until the merits of secondary education that I realised what I was fervently devouring wasn’t exactly all that wholesome. As I began to write more and more, something clicked. The whinging, the constant references to burdened taxpayers, the preference for introspective scandal rather than global issues. Bias pervaded in the language, and it really didn’t taste very good.
Yet still I read on. But now, I wasn’t furthering my knowledge about the latest figures on immigration, nay, not even the cancer risks from writing weighty comment pieces on Word 2003. It was about my criticism of journalistic attitudes, the lack of cited sources, the opinionated letters with bad attitudes. Subsequently I grew up and stopped, settling down with the infinitely more friendly local news. Finally, I had got out of the game.
Then everything changed. The Daily Mail’s exposure of Imperial’s wild ways in combination with the sudden trend of comedians taking potshots at Mail readers peaked my curiosity in the standards of tabloids today. It was time to lay my demons to rest once and for all. It was time to return to the newsagents.
Outwardly, [The Daily Mail] is a morally upstanding citizen, yet inside it’s filthy minded
The front page of the Mail. A sizeable photo of Pete Doherty and his latest misdemeanours dominate proceedings. Then I find it, in the miniscule column to the bottom left, “Bloodbath on streets of Cairo”. Flicking through the pages, I get the feeling that a great deal of meanness remains. Physical imperfections of female celebrities are pored over, grisly fox attacks packaged with gory images in full technicolour. Outwardly, the paper’s a morally upstanding citizen, yet inside it’s filthy minded. Ah, here we are, “CAMEL WARRIORS IN BATTLE OF CAIRO”.
Seriously, what’s next? Shootout at the Great Pyramid? Aquatic pursuit on the Nile? The potential to form a tenuous link with Egypt for the benefit of readers is endless! My venture back to the Mail left me disappointed. I was no more critical of it than I had been. I had to go deeper. Beyond DiCaprio, if you like. I needed The Sun.
Like a 9 year old sycophantic schoolboy who’s just discovered naughty words, The Sun uneasily mixes sensationalist and populist stories with outward political allegiance. Raoul Moat dominates the front cover, for some reason. A ‘pal’ of Mel Gibson reveals his innermost thoughts. David Camer– whoa, an article on cider branding! Look out ladies; they’re bringing out pear cider especially for your delicate taste buds!
Sorry, it even suckered me in. I can’t find any other word to describe it but propaganda; the simplistic language, the well documented history of switching political support. Printed letters praise the Coalition to the skies. Someone suggests Jeremy Clarkson would be better as Prime Minister. I cry inside.
Because that’s what genuinely worries me. While the Mail has a dedicated core readership with unchanging traditionalist values, it’s people like Rupert Murdoch, owner of The Sun and a bevy of other publications, who can easily mould the opinions of so many readers.
At least I can rest back into the warm embrace of local news when it all gets too much. Whereas I might have had to deal with secret perverts and schoolchildren in the past, forever fixated on the negative, local papers are like a trip to a kindly elderly relative, where I know I’m going to get a hot drink and a slice of homemade cake. One headline tells me that, “LOCAL JOURNALISTS VISIT SCHOOL TO HELP WRITE PUNCHY HEADLINES”. Aw, bless ‘em. They might not get it right all the time, but my word, they care.
