In the media, stories of people affected by government policies or institutional decisions often accompany reporting and commentary on those subjects.

Together, illustrations and articles often portray injured people as victims of unfeeling institutions that have deprived them of benefits to which they are entitled.

They also reflect the publication’s political and social biases.

Instinctive reactions

Our instinctive reaction to such stories often echoes our political and social views. We are likely to be angered at seeing people like us who are wronged, and to be sceptical about sympathetic stories of people for whom we have little time.

A more considered response, however, will applaud the stories that accompany articles on injustice or deprivation.

The images and personal stories discourage us from reducing policies to statistics and general principles that neglect their effect on human beings.

To see images of the death, mutilation, starvation and homelessness of people affected by war, for example, challenges any attempt to justify the conduct of war by appealing to the greatest good of the largest number or by claiming the right to do whatever it takes to respond to aggression.

Three risks

Yet relying on such images and stories to expose institutional and policy failings carries three risks.

The first is that we shall overlook the inevitable effects of any policy in advantaging some and disadvantaging others.

Shaping any policy to aid one group must take into account the claims of people dependent on other policies and the resources available to meet those claims. If resources are limited by the unwillingness of society to pay increased taxes and by gross inequality, these things also need to be a central part of the story and to be given a human face.

Opinion is not enough

The second risk is that we might mistake pointing out society’s deficiencies, and calling out those who embody them, for a sufficient response.

At its worst, this implies that it is necessary and sufficient to have the right opinion about every issue, to proclaim it, and to dismiss and even cancel the voices of those who disagree with us. This will absolve us of the need to engage with people we defend or to converse with those with whom we disagree.

Such an attitude will only strengthen opposition to the opinions we espouse and lessen the chance of change that will benefit those whom we claim to defend. The stories of the people whom we highlight will then risk exacerbating prejudice against them among those whom we oppose.

The third risk is that such stories can blind us to the inevitable fallibility of all human beings and systems, not to mention the potentially more catastrophic fallibility of digital systems.

For example, people in hospitals make mistakes. The categories that decide who receives or is denied support can prove too crude and open to misinterpretation.

Space for imperfection

Societies, particularly those like our own marked by gross inequality, need space to accept imperfection, failure, and the need for reconciliation.

In a haunting poem inspired by the figure of Christ on the crucifix in her hospital, Anne Sexton wrote, ‘Skinny man, you are somebody’s fault’. The line catches the simultaneous revulsion at the suffering of the tortured Christ and the need to blame someone for it.

The line understandably leaves aside the religious faith embodied in the crucifix, in which Christ’s acceptance of brutal suffering becomes the path to a fuller life.

In the Christian story, the fate of the figure on the cross was indeed someone’s fault, as indeed, at least indirectly, is the suffering of most human beings. It is also, however, an invitation to compassion and to hope in a life beyond suffering based on the Son of God’s sharing of death on our behalf.

The images of suffering and neglect in the media, too, often emphasise someone’s fault. But they can lead us in two directions: towards dissatisfaction and blame, or towards compassion and hope for a better way.

• Andrew Hamilton SJ is the consulting editor of Eureka Street, and a writer at Jesuit Social Services.
• First published in Eureka Street. Republished with permission.