Article
Comment
Death & life
4 min read

A covering of feathers for the terrors of the night

How to struggle with the burden of other people's suffering.
a pile of feathers.
Evie S. on Unsplash.

It’s one of the sad facts of life: that many of us at some point will see our parents get old and fade away. Sigh. It doesn’t matter how well prepared you are or how much you’ve thought about it before hand, the reality of a fragile mum or an exhausted dad can break your heart.  

I’ve talked to my parents about this for years here and there. We’ve done lots of joking about seeing them off with a pink pill in the sherry, or ‘it’ll be a pillow for you Pa, if you’re too annoying’ – type thing. But when they left after Sunday lunch a couple of weeks ago, I had to clutch my husband. He lost his own mother last year… we’re still fluttering around the gap she’s left in our family. And now there’s my beloved olds too, looking diminished and moth eaten and moving at crepuscular speed. Ask Dad how he is these days, and he says ‘Old, dear’, and won’t elaborate further. 

I can cope with this when it’s in short bursts. Visiting them for lunch or taking them out on a trip is OK and manageable, and there is still joy in family occasions. Mum’s birthday was full of love, even though she took all afternoon to open her cards and became hopelessly confused about who’d given her what.  

But staying with them… that’s hard. Seeing the dust thick over the spare room; worrying about just how long that bowl of leftovers has been in the fridge. I whip about as unobtrusively as I can, scrubbing the bottom of the washing up bowl or putting their jerseys in a wash. I don’t want to be annoying – they won’t accept help and I’m not going to push – but it makes me sad. In particular I hate that my mum is in constant pain from crumbling bones, and that dementia has stolen her mind. Also, that as a consequence, Dad is irritable with her; he who has always adored her so much. 

I could picture them vividly, the feathers, soft and heavy and beautifully patterned like an owl’s, and imagine I was peering out through them at Mum’s pain. 

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Since childhood, I have struggled with the burden of other people’s suffering. I sometimes wonder if I’m exaggerating when I think about how much I mind, but I don’t think I am. I can only manage if I’m really ready for it. With my counselling clients that takes the form of very firm boundaries, regular supervision, colleagues to talk to etc… but with family it’s much harder. It’s just your own naked, soft-bodied self-shrinking from all the nettles and thorns – like a hermit crab without a shell.  

So when I went down to Mum and Dad’s this time, I felt the need to prepare. ‘Put on the armour of light,’ St Paul says, which sounds just the thing. I hardly slept last time, tossing and wriggling through small-hour horrors with my neck hurting and a feeling of tears not being far away. What to arm myself with though? 

The answer came in the form of an ancient poem - Psalm 91. I was listening to a Premier Radio presenter who is a pastor – a big, tattooed fellow with rings in his nose and lip – and he said it was his main defence when his wife was diagnosed with cancer. So, I looked it up, and I loved it. It was all about how the Lord will cover you with his wings and keep you safe from the terrors that visit in the night and the pestilence that stalks by day, or words to that effect.  

Malcolm Guite (a poet and priest whose writing I love) says you have to treat Psalm 91 with care: it was the one Satan tempted Christ within the wilderness, challenging him to throw himself from the temple roof and God would send his angels to catch him (as it says in the psalm). It’s not to be taken literally, this psalm: you can’t deliberately put yourself in harm’s way and expect to be immune because you’re a Christian, like some of the vehement anti-vaxxers around the world who think faith alone will protect them from lethal diseases. But the message is that if you put your trust in God, he won’t let you be damaged in any important or lasting way by the evils of the world. 

I memorised as much of it as I could. And then when I woke in the night – inevitably – with the dread hovering over me, I kept thinking, ‘The Lord will cover thee with his feathers’. I could picture them vividly, the feathers, soft and heavy and beautifully patterned like an owl’s, and imagine I was peering out through them at Mum’s pain and muddliness and Dad’s frustration and my own fear. They were like malevolent ghosts drifting through the dark, menacing and cruel. But Mum and Dad and I, our actual selves, were curled up safely, warm and hidden with the great wings over us.  

And eventually, I was able to go back to sleep. 

Article
Comment
Film & TV
Truth and Trust
5 min read

Impartial journalism isn’t possible for the BBC – or anyone else

It’s time to give up the ghost and opt for transparency over impartiality

Lauren Windle is an author, journalist, presenter and public speaker.

A wide angle view of the BBC newsrooms show a starm layout of desks
The BBC newsroom.
BBC.

I wrote 3,000 words explaining the differences between a complementarian and egalitarian relationships – loosely these are the two categories that determine a couple’s position on male headship and female submission in a Christian marriage. I have my opinions, sure. But in this piece, I was neutral. I clearly laid out the arguments for and against each, explained the history, context and nuances, all to equip the reader to make their own mind up.  

I proudly handed the piece to my editor highlighting the careful tightrope of neutrality I had walked. She hesitated: ‘Well, I guess. But it’s clear what position you take.’ I was crushed, all the delicate phrasing and open-handed descriptions and I was still as transparent as the Shard on window clean day. 

No matter how hard we try to present balanced arguments, there is no such thing as unbiased reporting. Even when trying to be ‘fair’ in the way we present a story, we always bring our own perception of ‘fairness’ to the table. And without the wisdom of Solomon (in the cut-the-baby-in-half era), we’re not going to consistently get it right.  

I’ve been a journalist for some years but I’ve never worked in an organisation that claims to be impartial, bar a week’s internship at Science in Action on BBC World Service. I have, however, worked for publications that don’t share my political views. And even with the mandate to write in ‘house style’ there are many subtle decisions a journalist can make to skew reporting towards their personal opinion. 

Phrasing is everything. Am I saying they ‘protested’ or ‘rioted’? Is it ‘reform’ or a ‘crackdown’? Are they an ‘immigrant’, ‘asylum seeker’, ‘refugee’ or ‘expat’? Did she ‘splash around in her swimsuit’ or ‘flaunt her curves on the beach’? There is no neutral choice of words or phrasing. Every micro-decision a journalist makes is based, consciously or unconsciously, on the perspective that they have and are trying to impart on you.  

Then there’s choosing which topics to write about in the first place, selecting sources to quote from and statistics to reference and deciding how to frame the headlines. With the vast body of data available online, you can always find a person or stat to back up your belief. None of this can be done without a hint of your own background, culture, and worldview. 

It is through this lens – my belief in the fallacy of impartiality – that I’ve followed the latest fallout at the BBC. After an internal dossier was leaked, it came to light that a Panorama documentary called ‘Trump: A Second Chance?’ that was broadcast not long before 2024’s presidential election, had misleadingly edited a speech he made on January 6 2021. The speech was spliced in such a way as to suggest he had egged on the assault on the Capitol. Shamir Shah, the BBC chairman, acknowledged the fault and said that the editing ‘did give the impression of a direct call for violent action.’  

The BBC has always been plagued by allegations that it is not living up to its Royal Charter legally requiring it to be impartial. Interestingly, there are many examples of these complaints coming in from both the left and right sides of the political spectrum. The term ‘impartiality’ in this context doesn’t mean stripping all viewpoint from its reporting, as the organisation acknowledges the impossibility of that task, but it does say that it strives for balance, fairness and due weight. This is a standard they fell short of in their reporting of Trump’s address. 

In this, it is undeniably at fault. Even the most questionable of news outlets, that do publish quotes out of context, would acknowledge that knowingly editing or adapting quotes and footage to support their own agenda is totally unacceptable. Regardless of a reporter’s own opinion, readers and viewers want to hear a person speak in their own words.  

The wider question this raises for me is: why we are still claiming any news outlet is impartial in the first place? There’s a sense of safety with both right- and left-wing media, that openly acknowledges its own agenda. If you pick up the Guardian, you understand that you are reading about the world from a socially liberal political stance while tuning into GB News where they champion British values and challenge ‘woke culture’ will bring you something very different. 

I think the BBC as an institution is brilliant, important and necessary but not impartial. When people decry the reporting choices or phrasing of BBC reporting as biased, my response is always ‘what do you expect?’. There are important checks and balances, like rights of reply and offering opposing positions, that help round out a story, but they don’t strip it of opinion. I think it’s time to give up the ghost and opt for transparency over impartiality. 

The honest response is to acknowledge that, like every other person who relays a story, the BBC cannot resist the siren call of opinion. To claim it can, when audiences can plainly see the inconsistencies across its platforms, is both disingenuous and outdated. Instead, perhaps they could work to a mission statement along these lines: ‘We are committed to fairness, accuracy, and transparency. We value robust reporting and careful fact checking. We recognise that complete neutrality is impossible, but we strive to reflect the world as truthfully and inclusively as we can.’ This transparency would at least free up 90 per cent of people who write in to BBC’s Point of View to complain about its reporting.  

Years ago, I was in conversation with the deputy editor of one of the big tabloids when he said that, while he thought his paper was great, no one should use it as their sole source of news. I appreciate his transparency. I think if any of us only consume news from one outlet, even if that is the BBC, we are selling ourselves short. Our pursuit of and clamouring for ultimate truth is a God-given and spiritual desire, so the wise would vary their sources. 

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