On Compassion Fatigue

Compassion Fatigue (2014) by Ashley Reaks

As a full-time carer for an elderly parent, 92, with Alzheimer's, I'm intrigued by - and potentially at risk from - secondary traumatic stress (STS), or, as it's commonly known, compassion fatigue; a condition characterized by a gradual hardening of the heart and increased indifference to suffering.

For the fact is, nothing is limitless - not even love - and, sooner or later, everyone involved in providing care for the sick, the vulnerable, the poor, the feckless, or the otherwise needy and dependent, reaches the limits of their patience and concern (even if they are professionally trained to work with such people and cope with traumatic conditions).

It's little wonder then that the highest idealism often results in the most grotesque forms of abuse; for in the end, caring makes sadists of us all ... As does the endless moral insistence by the liberal elite that we in the West should assume responsibility for the entire world.

Arguably, it's not people like Donald Trump and Matteo Salvini who are inuring ordinary people to the acceptance of acts of extreme cruelty, as some suggest. Rather, ironically, it's the bleeding-heart news media that has caused widespread compassion fatigue by constantly broadcasting graphic images of starving children, drowning migrants, and the victims of catastrophic natural events, making us all feel helpless and hopeless and, ultimately, resentful.
      

Desensitised and depressed by global suffering, it's understandable that many people eventually think fuck 'em and look away, deaf to all further cries for help, or appeals to their charity.

And it's this, I think, that explains the rise of populism; figures on the so-called alt-right understand how tired and fed up and anxious and angry people are already feeling, in a way that those on the self-righteous left refuse to. 


Note: this post was partly written in response to an article by the Irish journalist Fintan O'Toole in The Irish Times (26 June, 2018): click here to read online. Many thanks to Simon Solomon for bringing this piece to my attention.

Of Birds and Blondes (and One Fat Film Director)

 

The recent spate of attacks by crows on young blonde women jogging in a South London park, has once again highlighted the fascinating relationship - marked by corvid animosity - between a highly intelligent species of bird and a type of human being often unfairly portrayed as attractive and fun-loving, but not so smart.

Predictably, but, in this case, quite legitimately, the news media that covered this story all made reference to Hitchcock's 1963 classic, The Birds, a film loosely based on Daphne Du Maurier's short novel of the same name and deeply ingrained in our cinematic memory and cultural imagination. 

Of course, the events in Eltham Park don't quite match the full horror of what unfolds in Bodega Bay, but it's always perversely pleasing to recall Tippi Hedren making her film debut and being pecked to pieces for the sadistic pleasure of director and audience alike. 

Hedren, a former fashion model, was one of a number of so-called Hitchcock blondes, famed for their ice-cold innocence and Nordic beauty. When asked why he preferred to cast such women in lead roles, Hitchcock replied in a somewhat creepy manner that it was because bloody footprints are best seen against virgin snow.

Hedren portrayed the character of Melanie Daniels to perfection and Hitchcock was full of praise for his new protégé and plaything, noting her slightly glib humour and jaunty confidence, her sharpness of expression and attractive throw of the head. 

As for the actress, she initially found everything on set fascinating and wonderful. But she would later describe the week spent filming the final frenzied attack scene as the worst of her life. 

Before shooting, Hitchcock had assured her that only mechanical birds would be used. Hedren found herself, however, in a tiny bedroom having prop men in thick protective clothing fling dozens of live gulls and crows directly at her. Admittedly, their beaks were held shut with rubber bands, but their wings and feet were free to beat and to scratch. When one of the birds gouged her cheek, narrowly missing an eye, Hedren understandably burst into tears and collapsed, dizzy with fear and exhaustion. 

When a doctor recommended that she be given a week to rest and recover, Hitchcock protested. Angered and outraged by this, her physician was moved to ask whether the director wanted to kill his leading lady. Hitchcock's silent response to this is, I suppose, open to interpretation. But what is for sure, is that Hitchcock certainly wanted to possess and intimidate Hedren and ultimately the real horror of this tale lies in the abuse of a young woman by a fat man with power, not by a few angry birds.


Note: thanks to Maria Thanassa for bringing the story of the crow attacks in Eltham Park to my attention and suggesting that it might make the basis for an interesting post on this blog.