Listen to the article:
My mom doesn't read the news.
Her social media is curated so any news that could make her day feel a little more bleak disappears from her algorithms.
I called her one morning to hear about the shows she binge-watched that day with my sister — a common topic of our conversations — when I asked her if she reads the news. I was curious about how she consumes it. I notice she spends little time on her phone, and when she does, it's to send me motivational Instagram Reels or watch a show — she likes sitting at the kitchen table where my siblings and I usually hang out.
"I haven't read the news since 2008," she said.
My initial thought was how much of a privilege it is to choose not to read the news. We can choose not to vote, not go to city council meetings or not attend school. But, for some reason, choosing not to read the news feels like a punch in the gut — my own mom won't read the news I write.
My mom and I try to avoid things that cause us stress — emphasis on 'try,' since we always find anxiety elsewhere anyway — but her consumption of the news is something she knows she can control. Even if she hears about it from my father, she tries not to look into any topic that she knows would worry her.
She's an adult who has responsibilities she should pay more attention to.
When I was growing up, her innate fear of a zombie apocalypse could be the reason why she avoided checking the news. Even if that's a stretch, I think it does offer some insight.
While my dream career is based on viewership, I don't blame her.
In the span of four years, I have seen a global pandemic, a presidential candidate get shot at (twice), insane bills pass through Congress, free rein of the government and many instances where a world war was lurking around the corner. The cacophony of news stations claiming the death of democracy is near, and the pleas that they're right this time, exhaust me.
In the span of a year, I've been a full-time journalism student and part-time hater of all things political — I only classify as part-time because more often than not, I like the drama. I have seen dozens of fear-mongering posts on TikTok and Instagram that cause me to Google obscure articles for hours on end, and I have doomscrolled like no other.
With confidence, I can shout from the highest peak of the world to the deepest point humans can reach — I think the aliens orbiting our atmosphere and the ground-dwellers waiting for Brendan Fraser should know — that I do not want to live through another historical event. Yes, it is contradictory of me to say, knowing that I am studying and getting paid solely for contemporary history to happen, but I still worry.
What is a historical event?
The phrase "historical event" is a flexible term. It can mean an event in history, as in everything that comes before us. It can mean an event that makes today's headlines. Or it could be construed as the day you first saw Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice — don't worry, we've all been there.
However, to Yasmin Saikia, a Hardt-Nickachos Chair in Peace Studies and a history professor in the School of Historical, Philosophical and Religious Studies, it is an event that can only be identified after its full impact.
"In history, there are turning point events, and then there are larger stories behind the scene that create a shift ... from what was and what will happen," Saikia said.
One example, she said, is the death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, which is believed to have sparked World War I. While it didn't seem world-war-level catastrophic at the moment, its impact was large. She also referred to the pandemic in 2020 as another historical event, describing, as many know, its global impact.
This leaves the question: How many historical events have we really lived through this year? The best answer I have (everything should be empirical) is a lot. This year, I have seen many potentially historical moments.
Information is flooding my brain
More or less, I have become aware of these historical moments through the internet. The cosmos of algorithms and Twitter chains; Reuters headlines and The Onion's satirical stories; TikToks and YouTube Shorts. These make up a college student's new painstaking hobby: doomscrolling.
READ MORE: Escape into the algorithm: Taking the 'doom' out of doomscrolling
When the overconsumption of internet pessimism starts getting trendy, the process of worry, analysis, loss of responsibility and gloom occurs. It's a growing epidemic, and it's not stopping anytime soon. The constant updates on news sites and the extreme awareness of everything happening around us, even thousands of miles away, are unnatural.
Imagine plucking someone from decades ago, foreign to the idea of mobile technology, and telling them that some people spend most of their days in bed, locked into the gaze of magic screens that feed them information. They'd probably call it dystopian, and they'd be right.
According to Douglas Kenrick, a professor in the Department of Psychology, we "inherited a tendency to be wary of dangers in the environment" that increased in the digital age.
Why do I allow the internet to control my outlook on life, and why do I program it to do so? I can blame the algorithm for its impact on me, but it suits itself to my wants, my clicks and my likes. It is the ultimate hub of awareness for everything that I, as a person, want to know.
"At least in terms of the causes of these things, we are kind of creating our own monsters because our preferences are dictating what's given to us," Kenrick said.
The fear, the stress, the brain overdrive and the excess of worry lead to the death of my belief in responsibility. I begin to feel nothing.
Losing the ability to care
"There is a desensitization of grappling with the condition of that other person or other community, and what they are feeling or going through," Saikia said. "Being able to imagine that problem of the other is becoming a task, and social media does not keep you grounded with that one story."
It's the loss of that butterfly feeling whenever I read an article or post that should worry me. Sometimes I even take a step back and try to process why I don't feel as fearful as I should — from that fear should be a stronger feeling of wanting to get involved.
Suddenly, a monotonous version of myself figures someone else will take on that fight. I no longer think of volunteering my time and energy because I believe others will fill that quota. And even so, I cannot volunteer for every issue that matters to me. The average life expectancy is 700,800 hours — it's terrifying to see it quantified — and for nearly half of it, we sleep. For the other half, we work.
To cure the world overnight, or even in a lifetime, is near impossible and discouraging. There's also the most demoralizing factor: I'm able to forget.
"We create this cocoon of well-being and security because we can walk away from it," Saikia said. "From the news, from the story, from the social media thing, and go on to something that we want to see and feel good about."
That urgency is lost when everything becomes catastrophic. When every event is perceived as world-ending, it'll feel like Earth already ended a decade ago — these lousy generations that came before us, burning the world when we took our first breath and poisoning the water before we took our first sip. And yet, we'll end up lousy too, berating those who come after us.
Climbing out of the pits of digital despair
There is no solution to not wanting to live through historical events because they happen without your consent. The world spins, and we're stuck on it.
No matter my pessimism, the solution isn't restricting your intake. I don't wish for news to end up a nine-to-five where only some features are shown. I'm also not the biggest fan of censorship. That alternative boils down to ignorance, and that isn't worthwhile either. Will anything feel good unless we've experienced a few bad things that allow us to tell the difference?
Instead, Kenrick advised that I should monitor my content intake and make sure to balance bad news with the positive. You don't want too many empty calories, but you don't want to starve either. Saikia said the same.
"We need to look at where human beings have actually shown the capacity of empowering themselves, and how the youth can become catalysts in this empowerment," Saikia said.
I've been through this countless times. You'll put down whatever keeps you busy and find yourself on social media, doomscrolling or looking through forums, and you'll read a breaking news analysis about why the government is letting companies put toxic chemicals in your food or how the next country over is in distress. You'll stare at it for a couple of seconds. Maybe you'll text a friend or family member to see if they've heard the news. But what do you do then? Do you join a group fighting against this act or lead a protest denouncing violence? Do you go door to door to get people to sign petitions?
More often than not, you swipe. Because you know the next big, fat, terrible thing that'll worry you is right around the corner. My best advice is don't. The bystander effect applies in the digital world too. Get involved and do your part in the fights that matter to you because they continue to exist, even if they're out of your news feed.
Every day, I see encouragement. I see students working day and night to fuel their causes. There are picket signs and confessions of raw confidence toward a position of conflict. I see people my age, the same people who were once like me, pushing their fights to the forefront of political action.
"In the University itself, I find students are very engaged," said Saikia. "They seem to be finding the clubs and associations and networks and collectives that speak to them."
The worst thing you can do is graduate from college and not think critically about your role as a student. This is college. We are a political hotspot.
The only alternative, that I as an individual can implement, is to find my responsibilities — to search for the issues that matter most to me and hold out a helping hand on my side of the globe. Terrible things exist everywhere, but it is the decision to be involved, instead of witnessing those who are, that defines me.
"We are all responsible for one another. We are a human community, right?" Saikia said. "Ultimately, no matter what labels we wear and what passports we carry, we are (a) human community that has to be aware of our shared world, our shared Earth, our shared beingness, the ontology of being human."
I am desensitized, tired, pessimistic, ungrateful and downright lazy.
But I am trying to make a difference in my backyard, and there is still much to be done.
Edited by Savannah Dagupion, Leah Mesquita and Audrey Eagerton.
This story is part of The Active Issue, which was released on October 4, 2024. See the entire publication here.
Reach the reporter at gheadle@asu.edu and @George_Headley7 on X.
Like State Press Magazine on Facebook, follow @statepressmag on X and Instagram and read our releases on Issuu.
George is a sophomore studying journalism and mass communication. This is his third semester with The State Press. He has also worked at Times Media Group.
