So it’s 15 years since Diana, Princess of Wales died.
Like a fox being chased into its hole she got the ultimate ‘papping’.
At the time I ‘blogged’ the following words following a week and a half of completely over-the-top orchestrated mourning.
It’s interesting that it’s only in the last few of those 15 years that the control of the meeja has finally been challenged.
OK. Back to 1997. I wrote:
I guess full and hearty congratulations are due the various media organisations for their greatest coup ever. I mean, of course, the way they managed to bring this nation to a complete standstill over the death of a 36 year old woman. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not anti-Diana. But, she was just a woman, you know.
With her death came the outpourings of the millions who didn’t know her. Despite having met her myself on three occasions, I didn’t know her. The last time I saw her was in the early 90s, and we spent nearly an hour together discussing a project. There were just three of us alone in the room. All I can say was that she either had damn good researchers or had a genuine interest in the subject. She was surprisingly informed and aware of what we were up to, and luckily for us, very supportive.
However, I left not knowing her or the private stuff that makes us people. Likewise she knew nothing of my private life. So, on hearing of her death, I thought, “Oh dear. Shame.” However, I took an interest in the details and the unfolding drama. But, I didn’t know her, so I couldn’t get emotional and hysterical, could I?
However, I did watch the way the media handled it. Obviously, they had to milk the death of their main source of income by hyping the whole coverage to the point of fever pitch, as it was coming to an end. It was like being in the hands of a very experienced hypnotist. There were other things going on in the world, but these were not allowed through. Television, radio, and all newsprint was 100 percent Diana. Even I, known for my ability to keep an objective eye peeled, found myself getting sucked in. I had to switch off to get away from it all. It was so intense, and succeeded in training the millions to take it personally. The woman they had hated for the various naughty things the meeja had told them to hate her for was now a saint or a personal family member. They wept and mourned in their millions. But, why? Only because the media said to.
I found myself amazed by the phenomena of the mass hypnosis so much so that I had to go into town and look at the flowers the hypnotised were leaving. Even a cynic like myself could not be anything but completely taken aback by the field of flowers outside of Kensington Palace. Pictures in the papers, on the TV, or even the most lucid of descriptions could not capture the eerie smell and actual vastness of the appearance of this huge collection. Standing alongside this thigh high mass only the involuntary, “Fucking hell!” fitted the emotion of realising exactly what this really was and represented. When a human visits one of the wonders of the world, an image of the pyramid, falls, canyon or whatever becomes indelibly etched for all time into their memory. Again no TV or glossy picture can ever capture the actuality of being there.
The actual sight of those flowers was a wonder of the world.
I read a lot of the words associated with the cards and flowers, but soon they all merged into one. That is, except one from a 6 year old child that included the phrase, “I miss you. Come back soon”, which remains with me for some reason.
I have every sympathy for the family and people who were involved in Diana’s actual real life. Many mothers are killed every day, and the pain must be terrible. In some ways, it may be more intense for those left behind when Mrs Ordinary cops it. Diana’s children will have access to the best care and support, despite the coldness of royalty. That won’t make it less painful, of course. Diana’s children did well in the public eye at the funeral. I have to ask myself if I could have achieved such composure had it been me and the world had been watching? I think not.
However, the sound of an unknown voice in the crowd breaking the extreme silence with the wail, “Oh no. . It’s her. Oh. Diana. Whaaaa,” as the coffin made its first appearance on the slow procession of her funeral made me laugh out loud. How ridiculous the meeja’s fodder had become. Will we ever learn to break away from its control? There was a time it just reported facts as best it could. Now it tells us what to think about the distorted “facts” it tells us about. It tells us how to vote, and what to think about those who disagree with the power of the meeja. It controls not only what information we have access to, but what attitude we are supposed to have about it.
The sudden death of Diana, Princess of Wales should signal the beginning of a slow a painful death to the meeja that killed her for our enjoyment. But, it won’t, will it?
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