The Peak

Showing tragedy is CTV’s right, duty

By Josh Tabish

Since the death of Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritisvili on February 12, impassioned debate has erupted in the news regarding whether or not NBC (and other network affiliates/news outlets) should have aired the video depicting the crash that took 21-year-old Kumaritisvili’s life.

While the range of the debate is wide and varied, two dominant perspectives have emerged: On one side, many are outraged by the extreme nature of the clip being beamed into their homes, while those in favour of its showing argue that, regardless of its graphic content, the accident is a matter of public concern and interest.

I think that showing the crash was proper, and served an important democratic function.

Unfortunately, Canadian news reports on the controversy too often position viewers as spectators of a privately-funded sports event, rather than as citizens participating in a cooperative public good funded by our tax dollars, and enabled by our democratic consent. Acknowledging this difference is fundamental to any meaningful discussion of the debate; if witnessing the untimely death of Kumaritisvili evokes public outrage and encourages investigation of those responsible, then that is an appropriate and meaningful democratic response.

A parallel example is brought to mind: During Gulf War I, photojournalist Ken Jarecke took a well-known photograph of the torched corpse of an Iraqi soldier. While the image is, admittedly, quite graphic, it was denied circulation in American news media as it was deemed “obscene” and offensive to the sensibilities of the American public. In Britain, however, the image was run and furious public debate emerged regarding whether or not the Gulf War conflict was one British citizens really wanted to support. These sorts of images often have the power to beg the important questions. In the case of the Gulf War photo, it was: “How can American citizens participate democratically in decisions concerning military involvement if they are not fully informed of the horrors endemic to such conflict?”

This logic carries over to the example at hand. Censoring the video of the crash erodes the news media’s watchdog function (i.e. the capacity to keep a watchful eye on those in power). It leaves Canadians uninformed of the risks that come along with this type of event.

The shock and outrage experienced by the public can provide the impetus for actual political engagement with an issue as important as the Olympics. And if that shock and outrage — that spark that demands accountability from those in charge — were to have been managed by news media by means of censorship (in the name of not offending the target audience’s sensibilities), then the public debate and response could be significantly limited.

Any censorship would continue the growing trend that drives journalism away from producing a mirror for society, and toward a misleading construction of society guided by what news organizations believe the target audience wants to see.

In summary, regardless of its insensitivity to the family of young Kumaritisvili, and its ability to offend the aesthetic sensibilities of many members of the public, it is proper to broadcast the accident. An image that jarring holds amazing potential to engage Canadians with the Olympics, as the tragic loss of human life reminds us of the event’s true nature: it is a publicly-funded good that we, as citizens (not as spectators), all have a stake in, regardless of our political position.