Televised Delusions: the Circus Formerly Known as the News

Let’s get one thing straight: I’m 19 years old. I wasn’t alive for Walter Cronkite. I didn’t watch the moon landing live, and I don’t own a rabbit-eared television or trust anyone who uses the phrase “trusted news source” unironically. I grew up in the era of BREAKING NEWS graphics, scrolling death counts, and news anchors who treat every Tuesday like it’s DEFCON 1.

The news today isn’t news. It’s a 24/7 panic attack with commercial breaks.

Turn on any major network, and the narrative is so predictable it might as well be a Mad Lib. Republicans bad. Democrats good. Trump evil. Kamala Harris a misunderstood saint walking among us, who also makes a mean lentil stew. You could fall asleep during a segment, wake up ten years later, and still be right in the middle of Wolf Blitzer trying to figure out where Iowa is on a touchscreen map.

The coverage is so slanted, I need Dramamine just to sit through a segment. Every story is twisted to fit the same tired arc: Democrats trying heroically to save the country from climate change, racism, capitalism, and words they don’t like—while Republicans are apparently trying to light the country on fire while cutting taxes for babies.

And don’t get me started on the Trump obsession. The man hasn’t been in office for years, yet he still gets more screen time than the weather. I half expect him to be blamed for hurricanes. “Tropical Storm Kevin is barreling toward the East Coast—experts say this weather pattern was intensified by Trump’s withdrawal from the Paris Climate Accord and his refusal to recycle.”

Meanwhile, President Biden could accidentally declare war on Sweden and CNN would cover it like this: “A bold, innovative foreign policy shift rooted in empathy.”

Kamala Harris, who can barely string together a sentence without sounding like she’s explaining metaphysics to a poodle, is treated like a cross between Oprah, Joan of Arc, and that one teacher in high school who always reminded you she had a law degree. If she smiles at a preschooler, it’s a breaking news chyron: “VP Harris Empowers Youth with Facial Expression of Compassion.”

But flip the channel and a Republican says something slightly off-script—maybe they express concern about inflation or mention that crime is bad—and suddenly it’s “GOP DOG WHISTLE? Experts say yes.” The “experts” are always conveniently from Berkeley, NPR, or the last known location of AOC’s book club.

Even the weather’s political now. You can’t just get the five-day forecast anymore. You get a guilt trip about your carbon footprint because you ate a burger in 2019. “Today’s high is 82—but you’re the reason Greenland’s melting. Next up: why your air conditioner is racist.”

Gone are the days of reporting who, what, when, where, and why. Now it’s “how should this make you feel?” And the correct answer is: scared, guilty, outraged, and ready to vote blue no matter who. Unless you’re watching Fox, in which case the answer is: angry, caffeinated, and mildly amused by Biden trying to open a door that isn’t real.

The panels? Oh, don’t even get me started. It’s the same five people rotating between networks, arguing louder than my uncle Nate after two bourbons. Everyone talks, no one listens, and they all have books to sell. It’s like watching Thanksgiving dinner on loop—if everyone there hated America but loved the sound of their own voice.

And the reporters? They’re not journalists, they’re reality show contestants. They show up in hurricane zones in waterproof designer jackets, holding onto street signs like they’re auditioning for Survivor: Weather Edition. Meanwhile, your grandma in Delray Beach is calmly watering her petunias during the “storm of the century.”

I know what you’re thinking: “Ian, aren’t you just a bit too young to be this jaded?” Probably. But I go to Georgetown, my dad reads the Wall Street Journal, and my Pop Pop has been yelling at the TV since Carter. Cynicism is basically hereditary at this point.

Reed Irvine—founder of Accuracy in Media—warned us about this decades ago. Back then, everyone called him a crank. Now? The guy looks like Nostradamus with a subscription to National Review. He said the media was biased, manipulative, and had an agenda. Check, check, and check. It’s not journalism—it’s storytelling with a political purpose. And like all bad fiction, it’s gotten painfully predictable.

So what do I do? I watch the circus, take notes, roll my eyes, and occasionally write these columns in the hopes someone else out there realizes we’ve replaced facts with feelings and news with narrative.

Until then, I’ll keep sipping my overpriced Saxbys cold brew, dodging speed cameras in D.C., and thanking my lucky stars that I live rent-free in both my dorm and the minds of MSNBC’s entire editorial board.

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a “BREAKING” update on how a Republican mispronounced “Latinx,” and I wouldn’t want to miss the national crisis.