Reality loses its bite

Over the past few weeks we have watched in horror as the people of Haiti suffer through a terrible natural disaster. The catastrophic earthquake that killed one hundred and seventy thousand people (and counting); buried them alive, crushed, suffocated and drowned them. Entire families lost forever beneath the rubble. Followed closely by pain, grief, chaos and hunger.

In 2001, we looked on from our loungerooms, jaws ajar, as one and then another fanatical hijacker, drove a 767 passenger jet filled with domestic travellers into the South and then the North of the twin towers. We watched as they erupted into flame and proceeded to collapse like proverbial houses of cards. Both buildings, filled with everyday people performing everyday jobs. People like you and me. People with brothers, wives, friends, and daughters.

The spectacle of death of and disaster has become an art form. News stations thrive. Vision and story come together in an effortless fashion. The distinction between man made and created by the almighty unknown is irrelevant and we stand, mesmerised by representation.

Reality is now the cheaper form of fiction. It's like going to a movie. We have seen the world end over and over, aliens have invaded. We have survived great battles and witnessed horrific crimes. Fiction became so blase, that we introduced TV to expose the lives and personalities of other 'ordinary' people. From Paris and Nicole, to Big Brother and Biggest Loser. And You Tube. Nothing is shocking, anymore.

We have covered every angle, and are so steeped in our pre-emptive quasi-experience that there is literally, nothing new to see. Yet to 'see' is only one aspect of the human experience. An experience that also involves taste, smell, touch, auditory stimulation. Still, we persist to seek out fantasy. To drown in it, to entertain ourselves. Is it avoidance or preference? Or is what we see simply so powerful, that we can no longer set reality and fiction apart?

Every contact we make now is channeled through a medium of sorts, starved of actual human interaction. The irony of our 24-7 connectivity is that we are physically distant. We converse behind 24-inch monitors, limit speech to staccato via text and no longer need a pen or a stamp to mail a letter. Why reach out when you can just stay in?

This superimposed reality is dangerous. By bringing things closer to us, we are driving them away. It helps us sleep soundly knowing that we've acknowledged the experience of others. It's part of the human consciousness to do so. But empathy means to walk in another's shoes, not simply sigh and hit the red button on the remote. We prefer to look on from a distance and then walk on. To live the dream that it can never happen to us.

It's about time to wake up, folks.