The future of faith and religion in the media

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So what does the future hold for faith and the media? Well, in our newspapers we can already see the debate I’ve just talked about, and the renewal of interest in the intellectual and moral battle between religion and atheism, being played out. So too the complex and difficult story of the interaction of religion with some of the world’s geopolitical fault-lines.

In broadcasting, the picture is also evolving.

< …> Channel 4 has commissioned some exceptional religious output in recent years and I believe we’ve seen a remarkable creative revival and a new spirit of experimentation in religious programming at the BBC.

< …> We’ll also continue to do everything we can to reflect the UK’s other faiths and to do justice to belief-systems which do not involve, or indeed deny the validity of, religious and spiritual beliefs.

But we want to be bold. < …> And we want to go on exploring ways of using non-factual genres – drama, comedy – as well as live events and our growing creativity on the web and multimedia to bring the topics of faith and belief to life for audiences.

The digital revolution is transforming every kind of broadcasting, but I think its impact will be particularly profound in the case of faith. The ability to use the web to explore topics in greater detail with resources like the BBC’s own religion website, the chance to use on demand applications like our iPlayer to explore great content whenever and ultimately wherever you want it, above all, the connectivity and interactivity that enables communities to form and to create and debate their own content – all of these developments are already enriching and expanding the way millions of people think about and encounter religion.

At one level, the web is the Wild West, a gift to cults and conspiracy-theorists, at its very worst a dangerous new channel for spreading fear and hate. But it’s also potentially a wonderful new way of sharing knowledge and personal experience and of doing it in a far more individually relevant way than conventional broadcasting can ever do. This is why it’s such a big emphasis for the BBC right now.

New dilemmas

In some ways, then, we have been creatively liberated. But we also have to accept that we are also being confronted by some difficult new dilemmas.

When I became Director-General of the BBC in 2004, the conventional wisdom < …> was that the most difficult editorial decisions were bound to be about political stories and about the BBC’s political independence. Perhaps that will eventually turn out to be the case.

To date, though, no decision about political coverage has been remotely as contentious or as widely debated as the decision we made about the programme Jerry Springer – The Opera. In news, one of the trickiest judgements we’ve been called upon to make in my time as editor-in-chief was exactly how much to show on the air of the Danish cartoons of the Prophet Mohammad.

Although people invariably try to parse decisions like these for general trends, we try to approach each editorial choice on its own merits. In the case of Jerry Springer, I believed that the arguments in favour of broadcast – albeit broadcast with very careful warnings so that anyone who might be offended by the programme would know to switch it off – I believed that these arguments, and above all the right of the public to make up their own minds whether to watch or not, outweighed the arguments against.

In the case of the cartoons, we elected to show a little more of them than the newspapers did and were criticised by some as a result. We didn’t do it because we wished to cause offence, but because we thought that, without some level of depiction, it would be impossible for many viewers to understand the story at all.

But the decisions do not always go one way. In the case of the animated comedy, Popetown, we decided that the balance of argument fell the other way and we dropped the programme.

I have two observations on the new dilemmas that are being thrown up. The first is that we are forced much more often, not just to weigh editorial decisions carefully – we’ve always had to do that – but to stand up publicly for our fundamental editorial values, and to do so in an atmosphere that can sometimes feel rather menacing. In the case of Jerry Springer, one of the things I and some of my colleagues learned is that the depiction of religious figures is not always an abstract or academic matter. Occasionally it can mean the need for a security guard outside your home.

But there is no point having a BBC which isn’t prepared to stand up and be counted; which will do everything it can to mitigate potential religious offence; but which will always be forthright in the defence of freedom of speech and of impartiality.

We are being tested in new ways. But we can and will meet these new challenges.

< …> We have a duty to ensure that no group – whether they are Christians or Muslims or agnostics or anything else – feels excluded or that their beliefs or customs will be treated with less courtesy and respect than others. And we have a special responsibility to ensure that, whatever the difficulties and the sensitivities, the debate about faith and society and about the way people with very different beliefs encounter each other – that this debate should not be foreclosed or censored.

Conclusion

I began tonight by emphasising the serendipity and uncertainty of the effect of broadcasting.

I’ve said we don’t know how the history of religion itself will work out. Nor do we know what the future history of faith and media holds in store. We don’t know what the seeds will be or where they will fall.

We don’t know how public attitudes and appetite will develop. They have ears, but will they listen? And what will they listen to?

We don’t know what will happen to media, though we do know that it is going through a profound and utterly unprecedented revolution. Many of the largest and best established media organisations – our equivalent, if you like, of the great cathedrals and mosques and synagogues – are going through a process of fragmentation of readership and audience very analogous to the challenge facing some churches and faith-groups.

In this climate, it would be very easy to become downbeat about the ability and willingness of the media to deal with the issue of religion and faith with the seriousness and commitment it deserves.

In the end, I can only speak for the BBC. But I believe that we can – indeed that we can and are finding new ways of doing it.

The promise of public service broadcasting was never to reach all of the people all of the time with everything we do. We need a proper humility about the place broadcasting occupies in people’s lives and about the speed and the extent to which any programme, no matter how good, how worthwhile, can impart knowledge or inspire change.

But I believe, as committed public service broadcasters have always believed, that what we do can sometimes have a transformational power. That it can be a force for enlightenment in the broadest sense. A force for good. And, on those occasions when it does connect, when it really hits home, that it can bear disproportionate fruit.

Sometimes not much. Sometimes nothing. But sometimes – who knows? – 30, 60 or even a 100-fold.

http: //www.bbc.co.uk

Dwell on the speech opening. Is it an effective communicative technique?

How has the perception of religious matters and the way they are depicted on TV changed throughout years?

Ex. 2. Discussion. Express your opinion about the following. Are the effects of broadcasting really uncertain (as the speaker puts it)? Explain why you think so.

Ex. 3. Follow-up.Analyse the text from the point of view of the social constructionist model. Speak about values, beliefs, symbolic codes etc.

Task 8. Assumed Identities

Ex. 1. Identifying aspects of communication. Read the story “Assumed Identities” by T. David and get ready to dwell on the main elements of the communicative episode described in the text.

Assumed Identities

By T. David

I came home from school yesterday afternoon feeling sad and sorry for myself. My boyfriend of nearly two years had dumped me for an airheaded cheerleader. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Our senior year is supposed to be special. Actually, he didn’t have the guts. Three of his jockey friends were more than happy to relate the news to me. I hate all of them.

My heart was broken to say the least. There was nothing I hated more than being lonely. I walked home slowly from school on an old dirt road that paralleled a shallow canal. It reaked of dying fish and dried up algae. The sun had been unrelenting for weeks. I stopped in front of the doorstep of my family’s house, wiping my feet carefully on the welcome mat and brushing the dust off of my clothes.

“Why are you home from school so late young lady? ” came the first thing out of my father’s mouth when I opened the door. It wasn’t a question. It was more like an accusation.

I walked by him without saying a word. I wasn’t ready to deal with this.

“Don’t you walk away from me! You are nothing but trouble, you know that? Go to your room right now.”

I gave him a “wish you were dead” look and stampeded straight to my room. Good, that’s where I wanted to be anyway. My father had been so mean and discriminating for many months now. I really couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. I hated him at that moment too. I hated all men.

My bedroom door slammed shut and was locked right away. No way I was letting anyone in. I turned my computer on and took off my shoes as it connected to the Internet. I needed to talk to someone, anyone who would listen.

Making myself comfortable in a small swivel chair, I searched for a chat room for people locally. I found one easily and clicked on the romance section. I needed to feel loved at that moment, even if it was all phony. When asked to enter a log-on name I typed in Lonely Heart, for that’s what I was. There’s no way I would ever give out my real name on the internet. Too many crazy people out there.

“Hello Lonely, what brings you here this afternoon? ” came a message on my screen.

I looked closer for the name of this guy. Loneliness. “Well I see we have something in common. I just came to find someone to talk to”, I typed back in my slow hunt-and-peck method.

“Same here”, came his quick reply. “What do you want to talk about? ”

Then on the spur of the moment I just told him everything bad about my day and my life. The words came out freely and I really didn’t expect him to understand my feelings. Men never understand.

“Just a minute, ” he answered. “I need to do something really quick but I’ll be right back”. He wasn’t coming back. I didn’t blame him. Should have known better than to think a man would listen to me.

There was a pounding on my bedroom door at that moment. I jumped up in my chair half-startled. “Tatiana? ” came my father’s all too well known accusing voice. “There’s leftovers in the refrigerator for supper when you get hungry. I’ll be in my study room if you need me.” And then he was gone. Good riddance.

“I know how you feel, ” magically appeared on my screen a few seconds later. I couldn’t believe it. He really did come back. “I feel much the same way as you do. My family hates me. I have no friends. They will never understand how much I really love them, ” he typed quickly.

“Why don’t you just tell them? ” I asked.

“I can’t.”

I decided not to push him any further about it. We made small talk about our feelings and what we wanted from life. This man did understand me. This conversation was a blessing to me.

“Lonely, I’m dying.”

I didn’t quite understand. “What do you mean? ” I asked eagerly.

“What I said. I’m dying and I’m scared.” There were no words exchanged for a minute or two. I knew what he was saying. I just didn’t want to believe it.

“How so? ” I responded after an eternity.

“I went to doctor a few months ago. I have cancer. He said I might live for thirty days or thirty years. There’s just no way to tell.”

My heart suddenly dropped. Somehow I felt a special bond with this man. He was like an old friend. He couldn’t be dying. It just wasn’t fair.

“I don’t know what to say, ” I answered back honestly.

“Don’t say anything. I haven’t told anyone yet. I am so scared and worried of what will become of my family. I love them so much.” Another silence. “And they don’t even know it.”

There was an intolerable silence now. I glanced quickly at my watch. Somehow time had slipped by for morning had already arrived. Suddenly I knew what I needed to do. I needed to meet this man in person to let him know that someone does care. His family was selfish to leave him feeling such despair.

“Loneliness? ” I typed.

“Yes? ”

“I have enjoyed this so much but I have to leave soon. I feel silly for asking this. Is there any way we can meet in person later today or this week? ”

There was no hesitation this time. “I would like that very much. You do live in Sanderson right? Maybe we can meet at the coffee shop downtown? ” he asked.

“Sure. Four o’clock this afternoon if you can make it.” I looked at my watch again. Nearly eight in the morning.

“Okay, it’s a date then, ” came the seemingly cheerful reply.

“I can’t wait! ” I typed in and said out loud at the same time. “Gotta run now though. Meet me at the little table by the front window. See ya then! ” and I shut the computer down quickly.

I stood up from the swivel chair and stretched for the first time in over twelve hours. I hadn’t gotten up for anything all night. By then I was starving so I unlocked the bedroom door and headed for the kitchen in a daze. My little brother was there eating some kind of bran cereal. I just grabbed a couple of bananas from the marble counter top and headed back to my room to get ready for the day.

I passed by Dad’s study room and saw the light creeping from under his door. I don’t think he ever went to sleep last night. Several times I could have sworn I heard him laughing and mumbling to himself throughout the night. I doubt it though. I just wanted to get out of the house before he started yelling and bickering again.

The day at school today seemed to go by pretty fast. I saw Jonathan, my ex-boyfriend, in the halls between some of my classes. He seemed happier than usual but he didn't have the nerve to look at me. I didn’t see his new girlfriend with him either. That didn’t matter to me though.

I was going to meet the nicest, kindest man I had ever known in just a few hours. I wrote him a letter during my study break. It was basically just to let him know that someone did care and that he was loved. Even if it was only by me, a complete stranger.

The final bell at school finally rang. I saw Jonathan race down the halls like he was in a hurry to get somewhere. It was three forty-five now. I had fifteen minutes to walk to the coffee shop downtown. It was less than a mile away. I was so scared all of the sudden. What if this man didn't like me? What if he was just some sick person who wanted to hurt me? What if he was twelve years old or eighty years old? It didn’t really matter I supposed. We were meeting in a public place and I said I’d be there. Besides, I just knew deep down inside he was telling the truth. He was dying. He needed me.

I walked slowly down the gravel sidewalk to the coffee shop with my heart pounding furiously every step of the way. It was a mile long but it seemed much shorter now. I was getting there too fast. I pulled my arm close to my face and looked at my watch. Three fifty-five.

The coffee shop was almost empty when I finally stepped inside its swinging doors. No one was in the seat by the front window. I told the man behind the counter that I was just waiting for a friend. He smiled and nodded slightly.

I slid into one of the seats by the front window with my back to the door. Two minutes after four. My new friend wasn’t coming. I was disappointed but a little relieved too.

Then I heard the little bell above the front door ring wildly. Someone had stepped in. I didn’t dare turn around to see who it was. Maybe this was the moment of truth.

There was a strong hand on my shoulder then. It was him. I couldn’t breathe. He spoke the name he knew me by softly, almost like he was crying. “Lonely_Heart.”

I finally had the courage to look up at him directly in the eyes. He was crying. His right hand was covering his forehead like he was lost from the world.

Then I cried with him. We hugged and sat there for hours just enjoying each other’s company. There wasn’t a single moment when tears weren’t shed. This man was perfect. This man was my father.

http: //www.inspirationalstories.com/5/501.html

1. How many communicative episodes are described in the story? Name the participants in each episode.

2. Do you think the father guessed about the real identity of his “chatroom friend” straight away? Prove it.

3. According to the pragmatic model, we cannot but communicate. Even saying or doing nothing is considered a meaningful communicative move. Find evidence in the text to illustrate this.

Ex. 2. Discussion. Express your opinion about the following. At the beginning of the story father and daughter’s communication fails. It turns out to be successful at the end of the story, though. What led to the eventual success?

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