"Koko Helsinki pimeni keskiviikoiltana - tai paremminkin kaupungin katuvalot eivät syttyneet.
Kun ilta pimeni ihmiset havaitsivat, että katuvalot eivät syttyneetkään. "
Näin kertoo siis Iltasanomien nettisivut ylimpänä uutisenaan isoilla kirjaimilla. Oikeasti! Miten blokkaan nettisivut, koska haluan välttyä tuommoiselta typeryydeltä jatkossa.
Koko Oulu Pimeni! -tai paremminkin suljin silmäni. Ajatella, että pidin jo äärimmäisen typeränä Uuden Suomen facebook-Teemun pörssikurssipäivitystä: " Tällä menolla kurssit ovat puolittuneet ensi viikon loppuun mennessä" Omaksutaanko tälläinen journalistinen typeryys yliopistosta, työpaikalta vai onko se synnynnäistä ja se vain valikoituu. Tiedän vain, että kiinnittämällä huomiota ja lukemalla näitä julkaisuja kannustan tälläiseen typeryyteen. Se pitää lopettaa, vaikka jotain oudon kiehtovaa näissä lehdissä on, kuten menneiden vuosien Hullu hullu maailmassa tai Seiskassa.
3 comments:
Silloin kun minä ihailen sitä, minä ihailen keltaisessa lehdistössä tätä:
"Real sensationalism, of which I happen to be very fond, may be either moral or immoral. But even when it is most immoral, it requires moral courage. For it is one of the most dangerous things on earth genuinely to surprise anybody. If you make any sentient creature jump, you render it by no means improbable that it will jump on you."
Siksi tehokkain hyökkäys sitä vastaan olisi syyttää sitä juuri tuon rohkeuden puutteesta, niin kuin Chesterton tekee esseessään The Mildness of the Yellow Press, joka alkaa näin:
"There is a great deal of protest made from one quarter or another nowadays against the influence of that new journalism which is associated with the names of Sir Alfred Harmsworth and Mr. Pearson. But almost everybody who attacks it attacks on the ground that it is very sensational, very violent and vulgar and startling. I am speaking in no affected contrariety, but in the simplicity of a genuine personal impression, when I say that this journalism offends as being not sensational or violent enough. The real vice is not that it is startling, but that it is quite insupportably tame. The whole object is to keep carefully along a certain level of the expected and the commonplace; it may be low, but it must take care also to be flat. Never by any chance in it is there any of that real plebeian pungency which can be heard from the ordinary cabman in the ordinary street. We have heard of a certain standard of decorum which demands that things should be funny without being vulgar, but the standard of this decorum demands that if things are vulgar they shall be vulgar without being funny. This journalism does not merely fail to exaggerate life -- it positively underrates it; and it has to do so because it is intended for the faint and languid recreation of men whom the fierceness of modern life has fatigued. This press is not the yellow press at all; it is the drab press. Sir Alfred Harmsworth must not address to the tired clerk any observation more witty than the tired clerk might be able to address to Sir Alfred Harmsworth. It must not expose anybody (anybody who is powerful, that is), it must not offend anybody, it must not even please anybody, too much. A general vague idea that in spite of all this, our yellow press is sensational, arises from such external accidents as large type or lurid headlines. It is quite true that these editors print everything they possibly can in large capital letters. But they do this, not because it is startling, but because it is soothing. To people wholly weary or partly drunk in a dimly lighted train, it is a simplification and a comfort to have things presented in this vast and obvious manner. The editors use this gigantic alphabet in dealing with their readers, for exactly the same reason that parents and governesses use a similar gigantic alphabet in teaching children to spell. The nursery authorities do not use an A as big as a horseshoe in order to make the child jump; on the contrary, they use it to put the child at his ease, to make things smoother and more evident. Of the same character is the dim and quiet dame school which Sir Alfred Harmsworth and Mr. Pearson keep. All their sentiments are spelling-book sentiments -- that is to say, they are sentiments with which the pupil is already respectfully familiar. All their wildest posters are leaves torn from a copy-book..."
Ja on luettavissa kokonaisuudessaan täältä (luku 8):
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/470/470-h/470-h.htm
Vielä toinen lainaus Chestertonin esseestä The Fatigue of Fleet Street:
"It is not so much that the journalists do not tell the truth as that they tell just enough of it to make it clear that they are telling lies. One of their favourite blunders is an amazing sort of pathos. They begin for example by telling you that some statesman said something brilliant in style or biting in wit, at which his hearers thrilled with terror or thundered with applause. And then they tell you what it was that he said. Silly asses!
Here is an example from a leading Liberal paper touching the debates on Home Rule. I am a Home Ruler; so my sympathies would be, if anything, on the side of the Liberal paper upon that point. I merely quote it as an example of this ridiculous way of writing, which, by insane exaggeration, actually makes its hero look smaller than he is:
“Mr. Asquith, knowing that the biggest battle of his career was upon him, hit back without mercy: ‘I should like first to know,’ said he, with a glance at his supporters, ‘whether my proposals are accepted?’”
That's all. And I really do not see why poor Mr. Asquith should be represented as having violated the Christian virtue of mercy by saying that. I myself could compose a great many paragraphs upon the same model, each containing its stinging and perhaps unscrupulous epigram. As, for example:
“The Archbishop of Canterbury, realising that his choice now lay between denying God and earning the crown of martyrdom by dying in torments, spoke with a frenzy of religious passion that might have seemed fanatical under circumstances less intense: ‘The Children's Service,’ he said firmly, with his face to the congregation, ‘will be held at half-past four this afternoon as usual.’”
Or, we might have:
“Lord Roberts, recognising that he had now to face Armageddon, and that if he lost this last battle against overwhelming odds the independence of England would be extinguished forever, addressed to his soldiers (looking at them and not falling off his horse) a speech which brought their national passions to boiling point, and might well have seemed blood-thirsty in quieter times. It ended with the celebrated declaration that it was a fine day.”
Or we might have the much greater excitement of reading something like this:
“The Astronomer Royal, having realised that the earth would certainly be smashed to pieces by a comet unless his requests in connection with wireless telegraphy were seriously considered, gave an address at the Royal Society which, under other circumstances, would have seemed unduly dogmatic and emotional and deficient in scientific agnosticism. This address (which he delivered without any attempt to stand on his head) included a fierce and even ferocious declaration that it is generally easier to see the stars by night than by day.”
Now, I cannot see, on my conscience and reason, that any one of my imaginary paragraphs is more ridiculous than the real one. Nobody can believe that Mr. Asquith regards these belated and careful compromises about Home Rule as “the biggest battle of his career.” It is only justice to him to say that he has had bigger battles than that. Nobody can believe that any body of men, bodily present, either thundered or thrilled at a man merely saying that he would like to know whether his proposals were accepted."
Tuo essee löytyy täältä (sivu 28 ja eteenpäin):
http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/readfile?fk_files=1448037&pageno=28
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