BOP PT IT OS FNP LT COI SSNS TNT he aint etemnniaa siete taie, Mitel The War on Error: Miner tragedy exposes mass media's major flaws Brandon Ferguson, OP Camp Counsellor The year 2005 will be remembered for many things: Pope John Paul II dies (and very nearly enters saint- hood the same day); Hurricane Katrina devastates the deep south of America (and very nearly ends the reign of the Bush administration); and Iraqis hold a free vote for the first time in a long time (and very nearly makes a difference in insurgent attacks). 2005 was a year of shocking imagery and shaky information. The Pope may or may not be dead, but still 4 million marched on the Vatican Square. Katrina may or may not have been predictable, but still three- quarters of New Orleans was flooded by disease-ridden water. And Iragis may or may not have achieved democ- racy, but still, for a minute there, it felt like it. 2006 kicked off with more imagery and informa- tion, in the form of 13 unlucky miners trapped 2 miles deep in a West Virginian mine shaft. For 41 hours, fam- ily, friends, strangers and officials worked tirelessly, wrestling with either emotional fits of worry or hurried feats of engineering. The rest of us just watched. That's a bit of a fib, actually; on the day the fateful news came to the surface that 12 miners had perished, I had just finished watching a Surrea/ Life marathon and was doing some last minute channel surfing before my bed or the couch cushion came calling. Suddenly, breaking news. “12 Miners Found Alive,” the bottom screen banner screamed. "That's awesome,’ I thought, bear- ing in mind that this was the same day that 18,360 Vancouverites had mercilessly booed 18- and 19-year- old American kids in favour of Russian hockey players at GM Place. Americans are our buddies, even if they're bloody stupid as an electorate. And so, Katrina in mind, I felt some happiness for the Yanks that they'd finally caught a break. A miracle, even. People do not often walk out of exploded mines. Ask China. I kept surfing. Three zombie-like hours later, I was awaiting Jon Stewart, Peter Griffin, or even Bender and a talk- ing lobster to entertain me when more breaking news scrolled across the bottom screen banner of CNN, home of bottom feeder banter. “12 Miners Found Dead,” it read. “What?” I thought. “That’s tragic, but hardly unexpected. Still, that’s so...sad.” There on the screen, standing before a false full moon of flood- lights, was Anderson Cooper, the intrepid hurricane reporter, he of the yellow raincoat and boyish good looks. Standing beside him, a downcast mother with two small childrennot a flailing palm tree. She wanted to know why; why would you put out the information that the miners were alive, only to rip the families' heart out again? “How could you put out information that wasn't true?” she asked, her voice half-full of rage, half-empty through emotional exhaustion. It was a good question. Another one: why are you leeches even there in this, the worst hour of so many people's lives? Because producers knew it would fill at least 48 hours of incessant “news” coverage? Maybe more? Anderson Cooper stammered. The acclaimed Katrina correspondent now found himself in the eye of a very real storm. Cooper stuttered and muttered some- thing about the information...the miscommunication...it must have come from the hospital...a doctor, perhaps...some kind of mistake between the mine and the hospital...we were acting in good faith. He stammered, not only on behalf of himself but on behalf of American media. How can you cover 24 hours of news and not tell a single story from Swahili or Samoa or even Venice or Genoa? In 24 hours, can't you give us more? At the hastily assembled press conference with FEATURES 10 International Coal Group President, Ben Hatfield, only one of the first dozen questions asked was about the miners. . “They had gone to where they felt was safer, built a crude barricade, and put on their self-contained breath- ing apparatuses.” This is the imagery that conveys the information we need; this is the haunting news story. Twelve men, hud- dled together, keeping each other strong and alert as best they can, awaiting inevitability, praying for a mira- cle, doing what they can to return to those they love. When events like this happen, it is the imagery that more accurately captures the information. After the “governor's thumbs up” and the “church bells ringing” signaled a modern-day miracle—perhaps the handiwork of John Paul I, which would be his first recorded mira- cle—it should be the powerful imagery of 12 men working together, trapped together, that tells the sad- ness of this story. This is the news. Not the Manhunt for Miscommunication. Not this War on Error. Every other question at the press conference wanted to know the precise point of the miscommunication. Where did it come from, because it certainly couldn't have come from the media. Which is probably true. However, once it's out there, on the air, it can't be taken back. As Hatfield pointed out, “no official statement was ever given saying that the miners were alive.” But that doesn't matter. We've got sponsors to think of while we're still in prime-time on the West Coast. It was after 3 am in West Virginia when Hatfield made another sobering remark, in response to another question about the faulty information (how can reporters do their job when given bad info? I dunno...dig deeper, maybe?). “Three hours ago,” he told three dozen micro- phones, “we would have been thrilled to learn of one survivor.” Ben Hatfield is going to be the villain in this case. He's the sacrificial lamb. Not because he caused the explosion; not because he didn't dig faster; he will be strung up and hung out to dry because we need blood, as if enough isn't already being spilled worldwide. Eighteen months ago, I attended a press junket function where Premier Gordon Campbell was declar- ing some marshy bog in Pitt Meadows a protected area. Three television cameras and a half-dozen reporters crammed the tiny stage and clamored over each other for the best shot, the first question, the fourth estate. Standing to the side in a Mickey Mouse sweater and four days of stubble, I felt suffocated. Now imagine that mob times a thousand on the day a loved one of yours died after two days of uncertainty and unknowing. Now imagine being trapped two miles down a col- lapsed mine shaft. In the madness for information we've forgotten the sadness of imagery. “T ask you to please not be harsh with the people who worked so hard here tonight,” said Governor Joe Manchin, who had spent all night with the families. “Right now, these people and the families are going through more pain than you can ever imagine.” He was talking to the media.