20 July 2008

Karl Rove, Cartoonist

John Maxwell

It was an upstate New York banker named David Hannum and not the showman, P.T Barnum, who coined the expresion “There’s a sucker born every minute”. That seems peculiarly appropriate at this time, when banking has shed its sanctimonious pretensions and is now, unofficially but integrally, a part of show business.

Hannum’s aphorism occurred to me after seeing the cover of the latest New Yorker magazine. As most literate and illiterate people know by now, the New Yorker cover depicts Barack and Michelle Obama as two Muslim/Black Power terrorists,– in the White House Oval office congratulating themselves for comprehensively deceiving the American electorate and the Secret Service, and successfully achieving the multicultural; takeover of the United States presidency.

The Editor of the new Yorker, David Remnick contends that the cover is ‘obviously satire’ –a way of making fun of all the rumors. If it were not, he implies, it would be nothing but anti-Obama propaganda. And of course the New Yorker is way above that!

The alleged cartoonist, one Barry Blitt said: I think the idea that the Obamas are branded as unpatriotic [let alone as terrorists] in certain sectors is preposterous. It seemed to me that depicting the concept would show it as the fear-mongering ridiculousness that it is”. His boss, Remnick says the cartoon “uses the language of political satire and cartooning, not of reporting and essays, and sometimes not everyone likes that or gets what's intended. I would prefer not to over-explain things, but I'd rather be clear than there be lingering misconceptions about what Barry Blitt was exploring.”

How very quaint.

Not as quaint as those who like Andrew Malcolm in the Los Angeles Times and Clarence Page in the Chicago Tribune, appear to have brains of pre-stressed concrete. Malcolm quotes Page approvingly “The Chicago Tribune respected columnist Clarence Page, an African American, said he found the cover "quite within the normal bounds of journalism."

Malcolm’s only problem seems to be that “… there's no caption on the cover to ensure that everyone gets the ha-ha-we've-collected-almost-every-cliched-rumor-about-Obama-in-one-place-in-order-to--make-fun-of-them punchline. “

Ha! and again, Ha!

And there are dozens of others who think the satire is obvious to those sophisticated enough to grasp it. as sophisticated as Kelly McBride who is Ethics Group Leader at The Poynter Institute, a journalism think tank.

In Poynteronline. She says “…Remnick's justification is a solid one, given the current political environment. Journalists are finding that no matter how much reporting they do, how many facts they uncover, false rumors won't die. That's what PolitiFact encountered when a researcher took on the authenticity of Obama's birth certificate.” Even with that fact embedded in her word processor, McBride says “The New Yorker's latest cover is deeply offensive or really funny or simply accurate, depending on your point of view. That's how satire works.” and she concludes “Satire is risky business. I'm glad there are plenty of professionals around doing it well and keeping it alive” That piece is titled “Satire’s new home in Journalism”.

I kid you not.

It was the sophisticates of course, who saw and appreciated the glorious magnificence of the Emperor’s new clothes – which existed only in their gullible, ‘with-it’ minds – the sort of minds that fuel every Ponzi scheme. There’s one born every minute as Mr Hannum said more than a century ago.

On the day of the New Yorker publication I drafted a letter on behalf of senior Caribbean journalists who, I thought might want to express their feelings on the matter. Only three replied, and one objected to my calling the cartoon a criminal libel. I removed the sentence, but even then only two were willing to go with the statement

Letter to the Editor of the New Yorker

“As journalists and human beings we all understand that public life is not a kindergarten and that politicians and others in the public eye are always at risk of hard rough challenges. We also believe that journalism has the right and the duty to expose falsity and corruption wherever they are found.

That being said, we believe there are certain bounds within which responsible journalism must find itself constrained: we have no right to rob people of their dignity, their privacy or their reputations. And, as your Justice Holmes once said, Freedom of speech does not give anyone the right to shout “Fire” in a crowded theatre.

Your editor, David Remnick is quoted by Howard Kurtz of the Washington Post as defending the Obama cover as a ‘satire’ – as a way of making fun of all the rumors. We confess that we and everyone we have spoken to, must have missed the point of the satire. We see no ‘fun’ in it. What we see appears to be a clumsy, maladroit drawing which is obviously directed at the Obamas personally and not at ‘rumors’.

Satire – if it is satire – requires wit and point, it requires art, in turning the obvious on its head to illustrate the truth hidden beneath. Satire does not need to be amusing, but it should be able to provoke an insight, a glimpse of a larger truth and the recognition, wry or rueful, perhaps, that we have been led, perhaps even tricked, into a new point of view, a perspective hitherto unnoticed.

Your plain, bald posterisation of the major untruths circulated against Barack and Michelle Obama does not provide any of this. In the present state of race relations in the United States and round the world, this is incendiary stuff, the equivalent of shouting fire in a crowded theatre.

It seems calculated to provoke hatred and contempt for Barack and Michele Obama and other people of colour, and like the Danish cartoons featuring the prophet Mohammed, likely to incite violence.

Many of us have been readers of the New Yorker over the years and none of us can remember anything so patently inhumane or propagandistic ever appearing before anywhere in the magazine.

We think you owe the Obamas and the world, an apology”

We are three Caribbean journalists with over a hundred years of experience among us.

sgd John Maxwell

Canute James

Rickey Singh

I am not sure why only Canute James and Rickey Singh were willing to sign this letter, but I salute them

They are obviously aware of Aesop’s fable about the frog and the little boys who were throwing stones at it. “What is fun to you is death to me,” the frog said.

Someone who truly understands this principle is the intelectual authority of the Swift Boat campaign of the last US presidential election and the man whose signature on the New Yorker cartoon would have made its satirical intention plain and put the issue triumphantly to rest.

The missing signature, is of course that of Karl Rove.

Footnote 1

Successful political leaders need to have an exquisite sense of timing. The challenger to Portia Simpson Miller seems to have a tin ear for the music of politics. To challenge for the PNOP leadership at the height of the hurricane season, with a general election looming and the country in economic crisis seems to me more than stupid.

Footnote 2

The people who stole thousands of tons of sand from one of the loveliest beaches in Trelawny make, for them, a completely unexpected point: beaches are public property and should not be privatised. If al had access to the beach there would be no point in stealing sand. These thieves should be prosecuted rigorously and should ideally, serve a little time, ‘wetting dem foot’ as we say.

copyright ©2008 John Maxwell

Jankunnu@gmail.com

19 July 2008

just a mood

we reach the limit of the old so soon
a single word and then the bird must fly
the sun cannot be held for long at noon

each child seems happy with a toy balloon
but when the string is let go then they cry
we reach the limit of the old so soon

you might have called each smile a pleasant boon
and not have noticed time as it passed by
the sun cannot be held for long at noon

for a short while the instruments might croon
their sound a little pleasure should supply
we reach the limit of the old so soon

the butterfly breaks out of its cocoon
appears in beauty and then has to die
the sun cannot be held too long at noon

i for my part am just one more buffoon
here to amuse not pleasing to the eye
we reach the limit of the old so soon
the sun cannot be held for long at noon

a grain of sand

the universe is measured in one hand
that's all we know and all within each mind
a sight of this is given to the blind
there is no boundary to this command
we aren't allowed to think nor to demand
instead we're set to work and bid to find
the simple answers of the older kind
and set them out in manner plain and bland
this is the working of the true machine
which we have built in the familiar way
so we are told neither to faint nor fear
nor to be worried for what might have been
as this is passage of another day
and we are sailing through a better year

18 July 2008

the liberator

the world is not supposed to be a cage
your task is always open clear and plain
and still it has to be renewed again

it is no use to shout or weep or rage
this is no simple easily cleansed stain
the world is not supposed to be a cage

our task to write upon the ivory page
in words that both record and heal the pain
the message of this kind and soothing rain
the world is not supposed to be a cage

spectator

no giants guard against brigades of lies
so many horrors weigh upon each life
and there is nothing here to replace strife
upon each back is weight of thousand eyes
those are strange stars under the darker skies
and each will shine as brightly as a knife
while rumours of new horror still run rife
and no one wants to listen to our cries
this is an age of change and every breath
announces that we have not yet been felled
or placed within the boxes of the night
but there are worse conclusions still than death
we stood and watched while better men rebelled
knowing that they took our place in the fight

17 July 2008

light suddenly

a blush of brightness on the broken bark
wakes in the forest all our hope of day
so much is lost when choices all seem grey

this is a lesson that you have to mark
not all our good is earned for simple pay
a blush of brightness on the broken bark

what once was jungle now seems a safe park
these are the signs that indicate safe way
the proper actions of a scripted play
a blush of brightness on the broken bark

16 July 2008

thought of the home

we each desire to guard our own half-acre

no night must fall while we can hold command

you understand the only honest taker

the gift we know belongs once to the taker

who can obtain it cleanly from the hand

we each desire to guard our own half-acre

so much depends at last on the forsaker

who stands there silent faceless and quite bland

you understand the only honest taker

the salt is gritty when its in the shaker

and does not seem to be ready to hand

we each desire to guard our own half-acre

this is the moment for the final breaker

it is as if it had been ready planned

you understand the only honest taker

bread comes to us by virtue of the baker

we do not think of it as something grand

we each desire to guard our own half-acre

you understand the only honest taker

prosper

the ruddy glow of the old-fashioned lamp

a shadow though the jalousies a cry

as potoo grasps her prey this is the high

and reverent worship which we must stamp

upon each soul even as tired feet tramp

uphill again past every staring eye

through the long shades without a single sigh

within your thought you deem this place a camp

in the far distance something you can't see

will draw you onward fill your mind with fire

of what you do not know but want to find

past this last valley there's an open sea

and beyond that all that you could desire

the price is that you leave your heart behind

noontime forests

if we will measure only the green glow
of noontime forests we may not learn all
that we desire the way that the slight fall
of tired leaves has marked off what we know
from what is hidden not a daily show
but something that might lead us just to call
our hearts to action the sun must stand tall
above our heads and our feet not be slow
not now the time for hope in magic forms
our choices must be urgent and depend
upon the blending of our thought and sight
it is our duty to obey the norms
not to bow down before each changing trend
but always to proclaim the rising light

15 July 2008

it is the proposition

you do not want to ask just how to fail

those who would build the wall make war a game

and climb the stage to loud cheers and acclaim

while on this side all hangs upon a nail

so many hours spend outside in the gale

while fools debate the costs and spread the blame

without a one who knows to fit the frame

at the right angle this is the whole tale

so much will happen when the day is warm

before the moon has sunk into the mire

and on the mountain other fools may dance

awaiting the true honesty of form

that comes when we declare fullest desire

and give ourselves the final decent chance

observed in secret

this is not what we mean by on the fly
but speed is not the same as simple haste
you must not press us when you know we lie

what we desire is just an open sky
but so much happens that we want erased
this is not what we mean by on the fly

our words and signals do not seem so dry
but all we value now is much debased
you must not press us when you know we lie

greed and despair combine when we apply
the rules of power upon all those we waste
this is not what we mean by on the fly

the true reporter we will call a spy
and seek to banish or else to lambaste
you must not press us when you know we lie

you must not listen while the victims cry
or mention terms like honour or good taste
this is not what we mean by on the fly
you must not press us when you know we lie

14 July 2008

maybe so

so much of what we know ends up in earth
no common choices but the sign is great
and all of us seek to accomplish fate

the words are stolen true but not the worth
each heart is full of filth but clean the slate
so much of what we know ends up in earth

those who know nothing have not seen the birth
of a small animal or a huge state
the work we find will not give in to hate
so much of what we know ends up in earth

for bastille day

a raft of centuries beneath the gun
enough we'd think to leave us without name
or make us all the sort you'd want to shun
eager to suffer not ones who would claim
to seize our places in the rolls of fame
not by ambition far less by design
we stand in place and go not out of line
your thought of us is as a plain mistake
and agents of a slow painful decline
but when we stand the world itself will shake

you think of us as merely made for fun
beings whose nature is lacking in shame
mere creatures of the torrid tropic sun
you do not want to give us too much blame
our greatest actions don't deserve acclaim
that's what you say and slavery was fine
to liberty we should not yet incline
and in the servile tasks a while partake
to be in bondage for our sort is fine
but when we stand the world itself will shake

of gentle qualities you say we have none
and your desire is to make us all tame
a worthy task you think and easy done
if you could only teach us proper shame
and learn to douse our anger's ready flame
so that our strength would with your wit combine
and you could rise above us all divine
the universe in your image to make
all of the stars in your name to align
but when we stand the world itself will shake

prince you have looked above us for a sign
that you could our natures with your chains confine
but hearts and bodies do not simply break
you think us just another sort of swine
but when we stand the world itself will shake