Where is the line?

I've been thinking a lot about the media coverage of the earthquake in Haiti lately, so I was interested by the letter of the day on CBC Radio's Q  yesterday, which raised some interesting questions.  Some similar questions popped up in this blog post from Lisa Rundle, producer of Q's media panel:

"The first image I saw after Haiti's disastrous earthquake was of a stunned and injured young girl, just rescued from the rubble of her home or school -- it wasn't clear. I wondered who took the picture and how it might have felt to be documented in a moment like that.

Those are always the questions with news photos, but some are saying that the coverage of Haiti has crossed the line, showing more dead bodies and more gruesome injuries than ever before, and without the same degree of reverence you'd get covering disasters closer to home. Some critics are calling it "disaster porn," suggesting there's a kind of numb pleasure in watching the suffering of others."

A couple of interesting questions are brought up here.  What is happening in Haiti is terrible, and we've been able to witness that in real time and in graphic detail.  There is no hiding from the 24 hour news machine, and since the quake, it's been all about Haiti all the time. While it's important for the world to recognize the severity of the situation, it's a lot to take, having images of death and destruction bombarding you every day.

The letter that was read on the air asked if we would find the coverage disrespectful, exploitative and even obscene if a disaster of a similar magnitude happened in North America, and if it was your neighbours or your family being photographed lying dead in the street.  I wonder. Are we more comfortable with viewing these terrible images because we can tell ourselves that it's happening to someone else who is really far away?

Do we derive pleasure from watching all the suffering?  I have a hard time wrapping my mind around that, but then, we as a species certainly seem to get some sort of joy out of imagining our own destruction, if the string of apocalyptic films that have hit cinemas in the last decade are any indication. Does this extend to witnessing real-life destruction?  Is it like a car crash, we just can't look away?  And at what point does all the viewing become exploitative? How would you feel if you were experiencing the worst moments of your life and every news agency in the world wanted a piece of you?