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Jewish World Review Nov. 16, 2001 /1 Kislev, 5762
James Lileks
"In the fifties there was a blacklist, and it ruined lives. . . . Well,
it's happening all over again. I think it's right now when it's most
important that there be dissent. When the patriotism police should be kept
at bay."
Sorkin is echoing the bleat of many who've been stung by criticism of
their criticism: an era of hamfisted repression looms, and unless brave
people stand up and be counted, couragous men like Sorkin may only get three
Emmys per year instead of four.
McCarthyism used to mean the ruination of one's career by a sweaty,
alcoholic cheesehead on a power trip. It referred to the false, reckless or
unsubstantiated charge of Communist sympathies. ("I have in my hand a list
of 594 known Communists in the State, Treasury, and Lingerie and Sporting
Goods Departments of the Federal Government! Hic.") There was a domestic
Communist threat in the fifties, and some who cheered on Uncle Joe ought to
have been held up for public censure. But the excesses and stupidity of
some resulted in an indiscriminate handout of halos for all. Losing work
because you were a Stalinist is seen today as proof of virtue.
Similiar ideas are at play now: dissent is being canonized without
regard to the quality of the criticism, simply because people are arguing
back. A college professor announces his approval of the Pentagon attack, and
people call for his removal: McCarthy redux! Rep. Cynthia McKinney's writes
of her fellow-feeling with the Saudi blame-the-Jews crowd, and people
critique her remarks: jackboots at the door! A sponsor declines to subsidize
Bill Maher's serialized incoherence, and Maher suddenly becomes our
Solzhenitsyn.
You're free to say what you want. Of course there should be dissent, if
only to reveal who's thinking with both lobes of the brain, and who's simply
letting their mouth channel their jerking knee. If your speech reveals you
as simpleton, don't be astonished when people laugh. Or argue.
Or put you on a blacklist. A private one, that is. When a person puts
out their political beliefs for all to see and smell, you're entitled to act
accordingly, to assemble your own private list of idiots. An instructive
example from the pre-9/11 world appears on the dust jacket of Bill Ayer's
autobiography, "Fugitive Days." Ayers was a domestic terrorist in the
Vietnam era. Had he been bombing Black churches and abortion clinics, he
would rightly be excoriated as a sack of dank filth on legs - but since he
opposed the Pigs, man, the Establishment, man, he's America's own home-grown
Che. He bombed the Pentagon back when that was still, you know, cool.
(Before everyone got so uptight and McCarthyite about bombers.) He is not
only unrepentant, he's recently announced he regrets not setting more bombs.
Some blurbs from the cover:
"This is a precious book . . . because it re-creates a critical point of
view and way of thinking that we seem, even a few decades later, barely able
to recall." Scott Turow, of legal-thriller fame. It's hard to recall how
people blamed the Versailles Treaty on International Jewry, but recreating
that "way of thinking" doesn't seem particularly instructive or useful.
Or this: "A deeply moving elegy to all those young dreamers who tried to
live decently in an indecent world. Ayers provides a tribute to those better
angels of ourselves." That's Studs Terkel, proving that the gravel in his
voice has trickled down from a larger resevoir above. If Studs regards
Ayer's plot to bomb a dance hall as a decent act of a better angel, one
wonders what Studs thinks the really fabulous angels are capable of doing.
Should either man be barred from print forever? Of course not. But
neither should one feel compelled to shed a penny on their behalf again. In
other words: build your own blacklist! People are free to celebrate bombers,
blame the Jews and parade their loathing for America and love of nihilist
chic - but when they make a movie, avoid it. When they ask you to buy their
books or records or give their institution money, decline. When they show up
on TV, mash the remote button with gusto. Some people fret that there might
actually be consequences to speech.
Let's assure them: there
11/12/01: From the bleats of dismay
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