Journalists love thinking that they can save lives. What could be more purifying, more self-affirming, after days spent wading in muck and sensation, than the feeling that, like doctors, you too can stave off death?
When a skeletal, dying African baby appears on the front page, we are being told to look, to not ignore the horror. But a more subliminal message is also sent: What a morally responsible newspaper we are, doing our job, fulfilling our traditional role of shedding light into the darkest corners.
During the recent crisis in Niger — a famine caused by a locust plague and compounded by a particularly harsh drought — the press spared no time in patting itself on the back. If not for the media’s attention, many journalists reported, the world would have been blind to this famine. The necessary aid that flowed in was a direct result of the images broadcast out. Otherwise, many more would have died.
And they’re right. On May 19, when the UN asked for $16.2 million to help stop the coming crisis, there was, as Jan Englund, the UN emergency relief coordinator put it, “near-deafening silence.” Until the camera crews started arriving in Niger in late July, Englund had managed to scrap together just $3.6 million (and, typically, mostly from Scandinavian countries). Only once those dying children made the front page did the money came pouring in: $73.1 million committed to date.
But there is something perverse about the self-congratulation. Permit us a moment of apostasy: If the press arrived only after children began dying en masse, doesn’t that mean that in some fundamental way it failed?
Let’s take a step back.
Niger warned in November of last year that the massive locust invasion then ravaging the country was going to create serious problems come harvest time. No one reported on this.
Doctors Without Borders and Oxfam tried to bring attention to the growing problem in April, once it was clear something like a famine was going to take place. Once again, no coverage, and nothing happened.
And then, in May, the UN asked donors for that relatively measly $16.1 million. The press’s response: not a peep.
When the media finally arrived at the story, it was in the most bumbling way, almost as a fluke. In early July, Kevin Bakhurst, editor of the BBC’s “Ten O’Clock News,” was sifting through photos to accompany a segment on the Live 8 concerts, the glitzy benefit shows meant to bring attention to issues in Africa. One photo, of sickly children, disturbed him in particular. Its caption said, simply, “feeding centre, Niger.”
He asked Hilary Andersson, the BBC’s Africa correspondent to check it out. When she arrived in Maradi, in southern Niger, she was the only journalist for hundreds of miles. She found starvation conditions much worse, she said, then those she had previously seen in Malawi in 2002 or even Darfur last year.
As soon as the images were broadcast on the BBC in mid-July, money began flowing in. But not just that. Editors everywhere were booking flights for their reporters to Niger. As Andersson wrote on the BBC website, “We will never know exactly what part we played in all of this but we were the only television crew there. By the time our team left Maradi, our hotel was so full of journalists and aid workers that there were no rooms left at the inn.”
What followed was so predictable it almost doesn’t bear repeating. An intense focus on the feeding centers in southern Niger; a few personal stories of mothers who had lost their children; angry editorials; opinion pieces blaming the ineptitude of the aid system.
And then, last week — about two weeks after the story broke — it disappeared, just as suddenly as it had appeared.