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Over the last few weeks, however, I havefollowed the revolutionary protestssweeping the Middle East and NorthAfrica like a drifter picking up his mealfrom leftover scraps at every bin he passeson his way: I read about the buddingprotests in Egypt in The Times; I heardthat Mubarak had resigned when itappeared on someone's Twitter feed as Iwas sitting on his floor; I watched rebelschanting in Tahrir Square on Sky News ina pub whilst waiting for a train; I learntabout the developing movements in Libyaand Bahrain through friends and theirFacebook statuses.These could be among the mostmonumental moments in the history of the world, since 1989, possibly since 1789,perhaps even since the Crusades when youaccount for the global context acrosswhole civilizations, cultures and religions.We may be on the brink of securinginternational democracy; or, more likely inmy own opinion, closer to World WarThree than we have been since thecollapse of the Soviet Union.But all they amount to are three-minuteslots at the top of the hour, or a randompage on an iPhone app. Becauseeverything in the media seems to be acrisis or an important moment, it beginsto seem that nothing is. Perhaps my great-grandparents were oblivious too just how important that little fella with the Chaplinmoustache was going to be. I expect,however, that the sheer scale of the mediain our present day is such that we lose oursense of the enormity of what is happeningaround us. When an update from Cairo isplonked on BBC News 24 in between thelatest score from Old Trafford and the firstarrivals on the red carpet at the BRITAwards, it becomes difficult to appreciatewhat really matters."When an update from Cairo is plonked onBBC News 24 in between the latest scorefrom Old Trafford and the first arrivals onthe red carpet at the BRIT Awards, itbecomes difficult to appreciate what really matters."The infiltration of the press in our lives issomething we have come to take forgranted. Last summer we watched with avoyeuristic intensity the strange plot of 
Raoul Moat’s final days
on the run and hisstand-off with the police, hiding in thedepths of Northumbria, an embittered andsteroid-abused attack dog, desperate tokill those he thought had wronged himbefore the inevitable end to his story. Iremember following the coverage of therolling news channels in the final hours of negotiation between him and the police, atthe end of which he took his own life.The vicinity of Rothbury, a modest andpicturesque town in the area, wascordoned off by the police. I rememberwatching Jon Sopel corner a young womanin the street as she tried to speak to hermother on the phone, who was alsotrapped inside the cordon. What wasremarkable was the casual ease with which
the locals seemed to take this. It wasn’t
intrusion; one interviewee I remembersaid that he was glad for the presence of the media, for the TV channels kept themup-to-date with everything that was goingon around them far better than the policeor any authorities ever could. Perhaps thefirst lesson is that when the media isinforming
–
not trying to make a dramaout of a set of government statistics or athink-tank report
–
the rest of us canmake a better judgement about the affairsof the day.But perhaps even more than that, thegreater lesson that we can take from allthis
is the importance of “normal people”
in shaping the events of the day andestablishing their place in the collectiveconsciousness, not just the politicians andchattering classes whose amplified voicesdrown out the choir invisible behind them.The most important, culture-creatingevents have at their heart individual lives,whether a man gone off the rails in thenorth-east of England or an angry 
protestor shouting “Down with Mubarak!”
in downtown Cairo.
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