ART, MEDIA & MAKE BELIEVE

When reviewing last week’s post, I noticed part of a sentence that read “the dystopian violence depicted in movies and television, either a reflection of what is or a harbinger of what’s to come” and began to think about art and the media.  It also made me think about the large number of people I know who believe that violence in movies, television, and video games (they rarely talk about it in regard to books or plays, which I find curious) reflects and adds to the violence in our country.

Yet according to the New York Times, it turns out that the number of violent crimes in the United States dropped significantly last year to what appears to be the lowest rate in nearly 40 years.  (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/24/us/24crime.html?_r=1).

And Time Magazine reports that,from 1993 to 2010, the violent crime victimization rate decreased 70 percent. “This means the human dimension of this turnaround is extraordinary: had the rate remained unchanged, an additional 170,000 Americans would have been murdered in the years since 1992. That’s more U.S. lives than were lost in combat in World War I, Korea, Vietnam and Iraq—combined. In a single year, 2008, lower crime rates meant 40,000 fewer rapes, 380,000 fewer robberies, half a million fewer aggravated assaults and 1.6 million fewer burglaries than we would have seen if rates had remained at peak levels.” (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1963761,00.html).

Both articles say that the reasons for this plunge are unclear and suggest a number of possible explanations.  But bottom line is bottom line.  Violent crime is down not up during a period of time when the reverse should be true according to those who believe current movies, TV, and video games lead to more a more violent culture.  It just ain’t so.

I grew up with cartoons that were not at all shy about violence.  Tom and Jerry, The Roadrunner, Mighty Mouse and all those episodes where Porky Pig tried to blow away the wabbit.  Grew up with comic books that had no qualms about blood and gore either–Superman, Batman and a whole lot more.  Try Zap Comics on for size.

Our culture has never been lacking in the media’s artistic expression of violence.  Dime store pulp books with hacked female bodies, True Crime magazines with bloody, bodacious blondes on the cover, black and white movies that stirred the same emotional fear and repulsion as do today’s “slice and dice” like Psycho, 13 Women (1932), and Peeping Tom (1960). Some of those “classics” were even able to engender some serious ugly without spilling a drop of blood. Think Cagney mashing a grapefruit into Mae Clark’s face in The Public Enemy.  Different presentations than today’s cinema, but the same feelings provoked in those who watched them.

Or consider detective fiction, a wonderfully American genre of writing. (I’m biased. Duh.)  Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett is regarded as one of best.  That book leaves dead bodies all over the place.

Or think literary fiction.  Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy.  Not for those with gentle stomachs.

Violence is everywhere we look. Genre fiction, literary fiction, science fiction, graphic novels, and, of course, movies.

I’m not a horror movie fan.  Never saw any of the Texas Chainsaw Massacres and never will.  But Raging Bull is often listed in “best of the generation” lists.  As are a couple of The Godfathers, Taxi Driver, Casino, and, of course, Pulp Fiction.  Certainly the spaghetti westerns and all the great westerns were locked and loaded.  And while it’s true that there’s a distinction between a single shot to the heart rather than a spray from an automatic rifle, I’m not sure I could pick the more chilling.  Or the more “realistic.”

The list of great books and great movies is filled with those that contain bone-chilling violence. And while I can’t say much about video games because I don’t know anything about them, the inescapable fact is that we are living in a country with the lowest violent crime rate in the past forty years.  Not exactly a ringing condemnation of those who do play them—at least as far as violence is concerned.

So I’ll say it again: I don’t believe that today’s media and art forms generate more violence within our population despite its increasingly graphic detail.

In fact, it’s my speculation that violence exhibited in all our different media probably helps reduce it in the “real world.”  We live in a nation born of violence, a nation whose history has spilled blood by the barrelful.  Against Native Americans, Blacks, Irish, Italians (who suffered biggest mass lynching in U.S. history) and I’m just skimming the surface of domestic.  We go international and it’s off the charts.

Violence is simply sewn into the fabric and nature of our culture.  I wish it weren’t so, but we are who we are.  The only question is how and where that violence manifests itself.  And if it can live within us without our acting it out.  This, I think, is the way that violence in media and art ameliorates rather than promulgates.  It is, and has always been, a way for that part of our cultural identity to express itself without inflicting any actual harm.  Violence in the media and in art is the pressure cooker’s release valve.

I’m not denigrating those who recoil at what they might read or see, or make decisions about where to draw their personal lines.  Those individual decisions are healthy.  Hell, I spend a fair amount of time in the movie theater covering my own eyes.  But they are individual decisions, and to argue that we are a more violent society because of our books, movies, games, and art is flat out wrong.

 

POETRY SPEAKS

I’m the last person to write about the quality of anyone’s poetry, though I did go through my e.e. cummings, Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg, Hughes, Bukowski, and Emily Dickinson phase many, many years ago. Still, every once in a while a poem, or even a snippet of one whacks me upside the head.

That’s what happened the other night.  Went to see Superior Donuts at the Lyric Stage Company in Boston. (http://www.lyricstage.com/)  In the front of the playbill, the poet Countee Cullen was quoted:

So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,

And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.

At first I naturally applied the words to the play’s action and meaning.  The bottled-up pain each of the characters carried–the bottled-up hurt, desperation and hidden hopes each of us carry.

Then I flashed on a recent post (three before this one called WHERE EVERYBODY KNOWS YOUR NAME–01/23/2012) where I wrote about my concern for the Third World and the tragedies people living there face every day of their lives.  Do they harbor “seeds?”  Do they dream of a time with a better life?  A time with more?  Then I looked up Countee Cullen’s life and decided that Third Worlders must.  Cullen obviously had a different kind of struggle, a Black man born in 1903, abandoned by his mother, orphaned at nine when his grandmother died, became a recognized poet whose work lives on to this day.  That could not have occurred without the man clinging to his ‘agonizing seeds.’

Many of us Progressives who have more than either Cullen or people in the Third World, still live with hearts that bleed plenty–for ourselves and our times.

Many of my friends believe that we as a nation have no place to slide except down.  They see our economy as buttressed by smoke and mirrors, the hopes we held in the 60s shattered, the dystopian violence depicted in movies and television either a reflection of what is or a harbinger of what’s to come.  That sooner rather than later the ‘haves’ will have completely, swallowing those that don’t–even the middle class.

I understand their thinking.  It’s the part of my heart that “bleeds.”  But I prefer tending to my “agonizing seeds.”

I believe our world can and will become a better place for those with less.  It’s happened before.  The Great Depression were cataclysmic years where most people had little in which to hope.  Yet here we are, economically and even culturally better off.  True, the basic power paradigm of the country remained the same, still I doubt you’d find too many people who preferred living in the 1930s than the late 40s, early 50s.

It might be more difficult now to tend our “agonizing seeds.”  We are no longer isolated from the rest of the world, in fact, so closely intertwined with other nations that a troubled European economy has the potential to tsunami us.  And even with these interlocks we continue to consistently ignore or abuse countries that have the greatest needs.

Only, what if we turned the preceding paragraph on its head?  What if we take the word ‘difficult’ and replace it with ‘possible?’

Yes, it’s a gargantuan task.  Progressives live in a society that still rejects evolution, censors textbooks, continues its institutional racism (despite a Black president), and shovels money to the rich and powerful at a ferocious rate of speed.

But has there been a better time to realign the paradigm?   Certainly the Internet brings the people of the world together–not simply governments.  Just look at its effect upon the course of the Arab Spring or The Occupy Movement.  Change is in the air.  The only question is what kind of change will it be–floating with Greenpeace boats or…

And when Progressives put our voices together and no longer allow minor ideological differences to keep us apart, to speak to those who, up until now, we have ignored, this country will change for the better.  And progressive change here means change throughout the world.

So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,

And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.

We need not simply “tend to our agonizing seeds.”  It’s time to plant.  We need not “hide the heart that bleeds,” but show it to everyone we can.  Each of us to do and say who we are, what we believe in.

It’s too late in the day to suffer in silence.

Cory Booker: Enthusiasm doesn’t come by chance, it is generated by choice.

 

TEARING DOWN THE HOUSE

For the past week Sue and I were in Florida cleaning out my father’s stuff from his condo.  As I wrote this last sentence, I immediately realized that stuff was a totally inadequate word for what we were doing.  We were actually cleaning out the man.  Taking his life and sorting it into three piles: Keepers, Giveaways, and Trash.

We always knew he was a pack-rat, but that label didn’t come close to doing him justice.  He was OCD and a hoarder wrapped into one package with 92 years of perfecting his art.  There wasn’t a nook or cranny of that 1800 square feet that wasn’t bulging with neatly wrapped or boxed aspects of every era of his life–and before.

Although there is something wonderful about learning a person’s life from what is left behind, problem was the proportion of each pile was trash–an entire building’s dumpster full, give-aways–two work hours of two men from a charitable organization, and keepers–a suitcase and a half.

Talk about sifting and winnowing.  Boxes and boxes labeled “short wooden pencils,” filled with, as you might suspect, short wooden pencils.  Plastic bags (with neatly folded plastic bags within them), financial records from 1976 on, all carefully recorded on columnar pad spreadsheets carefully taped together to expand to 11 x 34 inch dimensions. But of course, they were filed randomly so we had to go through each of them.  He was an accountant after he left the bar business and the only person we knew with the precision and parsimony to deduct the postage from his Schedule B and D tax forms.

And that was the easy do.  I’m scheduled for shoulder surgery in May, ripped tendons that leave my right arm with little strength and limited range of motion.  This meant that Sue was stuck with all the heavy lifting.  Broken VCRs, multiple busted toaster ovens, dead appliances, a storage bin of hardware from non-existent who knows what, old printers, and stacks and stacks of records of lost Publishing Clearinghouse contests, all dated and in chronological order.  It’s one thing to throw away a few sheets of paper, but try a tree’s worth.  Some serious heavy.

Of course, even rummaging through the tosses had its funny and quirky moments.  Sue brought me a folder marked “Sad Loses” and I gritted my teeth before opening it fearing mementos of those who died during his life.  Turned out it was certificates stock buys that had gone belly up.

The giveaways were almost as endless.  Old televisions, radios that banks bestow when opening an account, the never used Abdominizor, desk lamps that hadn’t had bulbs in them for decades.  Caps with built-in fans to keep his head cool.  Suitcases and more suitcases.  I suppose some people still use heavy leather ones.  Did he really imagine he would at 92?  I don’t think so.  Hell, there was one furniture console television that even charity wouldn’t take.

But there were some really sweet surprises as well.  Pop had a folder for each of my kids where he kept every note or picture they ever sent him.  A folder for Sue where he had kept any articles about her books or stocks she ever sent him.  Had one for me as well where he kept the reviews of my books.  Reviews I don’t recall sending him so he clearly made an effort to get them.  His Army Medals and Letters of Promotions as well as his history of working as a government accountant.

The diamond in the dirt, however, was his picture collection.  We’d already had seen the ones that had any of my nuclear family in them, but those were just the tip of an iceberg.  I now have pictures of my grandparents as young people, finally have seen what my great grandparents looked like.

There are pictures of his parents at the opening of Klein’s Tavern—Number 39 on the State’s License.  A tavern where my father once hired my musician cousin Hank and his band to play.

But the most fun was seeing my father grow from high-school, to college (where he looked like an aspiring author) to the jauntiness of his attitude while he was in the Army Air Corps, his marriage to my mother and to then Lenore, who clearly had been the love of his life.

A long week with much mishagas to deal with and think about, but it also allowed me access to my father’s mind.  The crazy and not.

This past week was Sam’s last gift.

Whether it’s the best of times or the worst of times, it’s the only time we’ve got. ~Art Buchwald

2012 STATE OF THE UNION MISC. TWEETS:

Bernie Sanders:
The wealthiest 400 people in America now own more wealth than the bottom 150 million Americans.

The Fix:
People love #sotu because it feels like genuine bipartisanship is possible. It’s like opening day in baseball

Jamie Kilstein:
All right obama, time for you to trick me into liking you and getting my hopes up for a few minutes.

CJ Werleman:
Rick Perry is at home wearing a beer helmet, while watching the State of the Union he wants to secede from.

Stephen Colbert:
SOTU drinking game: One shot after each time Obama says something socialist. If you’re confused, it’s at the end of every sentence.

Michael Ian Black:
If Obama wants to draw a stark contrast between himself and Gingrich tonight, he should do the State of the Union shirtless.

Tim Duffy:
Why is the State of the Union Address ignoring Ron Paul?

Ali Abunimah:
Boehner, Our Nation’s first Orange-American Speaker. A milestone for the fake-tan community.

Lizz Winstead:
Clarence Thomas busy amending tax returns tonight I guess.

Evan Kessler:
Pretty funny when politicians who hate each other pretend to be enthusiastic about shaking hands.

Eric Stangel:
Drink every time Biden wipes his nose… The count is at 1

Stephen Gutowski:
Starting off with the bungled Iraq withdraw seems kind of odd.

Lisa Pepper:
RT .@AngryBlackLady: Somebody check President Obama’s back to make sure Cantor didn’t tape a “kick me” sign.

Mother Jones:
“Obama Begins State Of The Union By Asking Congress To Imagine Newt Gingrich Standing Before Them.”

ColorOfChange.org:
FYI: Black America has watched its wealth plummet to the lowest its been in 25 years.

Imani ABL:
On a scale of Hammered to Shitcanned, how drunk is Orange Julius?

Dylan Stableford:
Oof. John Kerry looks like an unpublished Bloomberg Businessweek cover.

Ron Feiertag:
RT @FrankConniff Only half of the audience seems to be enjoying President Obama’s speech. Tough room.

Top Conservative Cat:
Has anyone yelled “you lie!” yet? No! Then why did we elect you #teaparty bozos if you just sit there instead of calling Obama out?

Pourmecoffee:
Whenever they show Eric Cantor, all of my plants die and I feel sad inside.

The Illuminati:
As Obama speaks on jobs moving overseas, the “Made in China” sticker on his American Flag Lapel Pin is starting to show.

Tuskegee Airgoon:
I gotta get me one of those U.S. Flag lapel pins so that people will shut up whenever I speak.

John Fugelsang:
Members of Congress, I have the high privilege and distinct honor of presenting the man I’ve devoted my life to smearing.

@HotlineReid: I want to see Mystery Science Theater 3k version of #sotu

Ed Schultz:
Nice to see GOP sitting on their hands during the “teachers matter” applause line.

Pourmecoffee:
Biden drawing pictures of trains now, but Boehner won’t look at them.

Tim Duffy:
Guys, I’m a little afraid that John McCain CAN’T stand up.

David Corn:
There he goes with facts. That can’t work.

Evan Kessler:
I think “The Promise of Clean Energy” was the name of a Paula Abdul song.”

Wickedwordslinger:
He watched the president’s speech with a glint of hope that things could indeed be better but then he realized he had eaten too much cheese.

Jesse Taylor
I think we’re about three years away from a State of the Union where the President walks around Congress with a wireless mic.

Andy Borowitz:
“I am proud to report that in addition to bin Laden, I just killed the dude who wrote that milk joke.”

Andy Borowitz:
BREAKING: Gingrich Now on Fifth Wife

Michael Ian Black:
This guy is so good I wish he was president.

Brandon Mendelson:
“We want a government leaner, quicker, and more responsive to the needs of Americans, so I’ve signed us all up for The Biggest Loser”

Andy Khouri:
I think it’s cool that Hillary Clinton and Nancy Pelosi traded haircuts.

Matt Binder:
Obama: “It doesn’t matter if you’re black or white.” For a second, I thought he was breaking out in song again. But then he continued.”

REBUTTAL:

Bianca Jagger:
RT @lejlaows: So basically homeowners are screwed, banks are allowed to commit fraud, and we’re entering World War III. Excellent.

Garance Franke-Ruta:
GOP finally picked someone for this career-destroying SOTU response assignment who has no presidential plans.

Gabe Delahaye:
FUN FACT: Mitch Daniels is the guy who squeezed his fish face through the prison bars in X-Men 2: More X-Men.

Shannyn Moore:
“Government as big and as bossy” from a guy representing the party who wants uterus control.

Jill Morris:
Looks like they woke up Mitch Daniels from being cryogenically frozen, so if that’s true, he’s doing great.

Jamie Kilstein:
I’m guessing that black mark on his flag is what Cheney uses to control him.

Anders Furze:
Next to their Presidential nominees, this Daniels guy sounds like Che Guevara.

Chas:
“Haves and soon to haves”? Wtf is a “soon to have”? “Soon to have” means you have yet to HAVE it… Gtfoh!”

Tony:
Obama: “I’m candidate Obama, and I approve this message.”  Republicans: “Birth certificate, and stuff! #rebuttal” Me: “Mmm… cake.”

Matthew Desilet:
I’m sorry Republicans, but you have NOT been a loyal opposition.

WHERE EVERYBODY KNOWS YOUR NAME…

I’m not talking Cheers, your favorite watering hole, your gym, yoga class, or street gang.  I’m not talking about the people you play poker with, or your dry cleaners or your postal carrier.

I’m talking everybody as in everybody.  (In Amerika.)

I’m talking about the Internet, cell phone, gps age, and the long lost issue of personal privacy. Let’s face it; there is none.  Yes, watchdog groups attempt to maintain some semblance of privacy vis a vis the Internet, but from where I sit it’s hopeless.  If you have any modern technology–including cars–you and your technology are being watched, listened to, and certainly being filed.

This isn’t particularly new, though the methodology has grown increasingly more sophisticated.  Pretty much everybody who participated in the civil rights movement or the Vietnam anti-war movement understood we were being photographed and eyeballed.  Didn’t stop anyone I knew from marching or burning their draft cards or throwing themselves in front of powerfully gushing fire hoses.

Hell, when I worked in Chicago we learned to recognize the individual people who worked for the Red Squad and were charged with following, spying upon, and unearthing anyone or anything they thought to be subversive, i. e., a threat to the original Mayor Daley.

But thems and the KGB were small potatoes compared to now.  Today’s big things are pretty common knowledge.  Internet Service Providers, website tracking programs, bots looking at your website to gather information, Google, cameras on stop-lights, and of course, as usual, the government.

I choose to neither fight or flee this open source society.  In fact, after minimal thought about the issue I came to a simple conclusion–fuck ’em.

If they want to know I take music lessons on Tuesdays, fine.  That I have a computer collection of naked celebrities, enjoy.  If they nail my license plate number when I jump a red light, let ’em.  I can grub up money for the ticket.  If my bedroom cable box is watching me make love to my partner and they want to bring down our national debt with a bootlegged tape, go for it.

If open door closets are the ticket to living in our technological age, so be it, because they sure aren’t gonna shut the doors.  That leaves us with ‘be here now.’  Baba Ram Zach.

This isn’t to slam those who would prefer private lives.  There are ways to minimize your exposure.  Don’t buy or use a computer.  Don’t buy cable.  No cell phone.  Hell, don’t take books out of the library with your real name and don’t buy a new car.

I’ll tell you what bothered me after thinking about this issue.  With all the technology in the world that has this ability to peer into peoples’ lives, and all our bitching about it, we conveniently turn a blind eye to virtually the entire third world and especially Africa.

It’s the people whose names we don’t know who are getting fucked.  People who wake up hungry, spend their days hungry, go to sleep hungry.  And while there are organizations who actually try to help–http://thebombomajimotoproject.wordpress.com/ and many more–the overall picture is horribly dismal.  Starvation in the 21st century?  That’s fucking lunacy.  AIDS victims without drugs?  Mindblowing.   Baby death for lack of potable water?  If I were religious, I’d call it a sin.

And I’m not really just talking foreign.  The same is true of all too many who live here in the good old U.S.A.

I believe and support the Occupy Movement; it strikes at the heart of our domestic issues.  Problem is, the Third World needs an Occupy America Movement because we rake in at least a fifth of the entire world’s resources and we ain’t a fifth of the world’s population. We are the pigs of the world.  At the cost of other peoples’ lives.

I don’t know whether I wrote the following here or somewhere else but I had the privilege during the late 1960s to visit Buckminster Fuller’s World Map, also known as the “Dymaxion Map,” which clearly indicates that lack of resources is not one of ‘lack’ but of ‘distribution.’

It might seem strange to connect the issue of personal privacy with the way we think about our lives in relationship to the reality of most of the world.  But I guess I’m strange.  I look at some of the legitimate issues we Americans debate or face, then look outside our solipsism.  People are starving and we’re worrying about whether the Internet has too much private information.  Well, it does.  But it sure doesn’t collect and use enough information about those in the world who we need to know.

They’re dying, we’re not.  Come on people who support the Occupy movement.  When it comes to starvation, hunger, disease, thirst, poverty, and all around miserable lives throughout the world–we are the one percent.