CSotD: History Coarse
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We'll start this morning with a Juxtaposition, because the notion that Donald Trump simply appeared in our midst, like Athena bursting fully-formed from the head of Zeus, is nonsense, and it's nonsense to pretend that there was this unseen group of violent, psychopathic bumpkins hiding in the hills, the "Deliverance School of Sociology."
Much of how we got to where we are is by not simply tolerating but embracing a coarsening of culture.
Imagine, for instance, a movie set on a college campus that starts out with two white freshmen being insulted by being equated with immigrants and minorities. They find a group of students to hang out with who play cruel tricks on women amid a streak of outrageous racism, led by a boorish lout who, for instance, finding a group of people quietly enjoying some music, puts an end to it by seizing the musician's guitar and smashing it against the wall.
Granted, in recycling an old urban legend, they had the decency to give the horse a heart attack instead of shooting it, as in the original, but the writers of "Animal House" clearly adored the Deltas.
By contrast, the creators of "Seinfeld" hated their self-involved, cruel characters and ended the show by killing them in a plane crash and sending them to Hell.
But did it in such a metaphorical context that their audience didn't get it.
If the audience doesn't get it, it doesn't matter what your intentions were.
Norman Lear wanted Archie Bunker to be an example of bigotry, but he became a hero. Lear announced he wouldn't attend the Kennedy Honors Awards because he's so appalled by Donald Trump, but you put him there, Norm.
The "Archie Bunker for President" memorabilia turned real.
Today's Juxtaposition brings to mind a Committed strip that Michael Fry did in 1999 that, in particular, echoes Darrin Bell's point about exposing children to an increasingly vulgar media.
Thing is, for all the jokes about product warnings that shouldn't be necessary, there's a reason we have them: You can't assume people will get it.
And, to respond to Arlo's comment, if there was a time when it was "just right," it may have been when the TV networks voluntarily called the first hour of prime time "the family hour" and saved the sex and violence for later.
Which I suppose was paternalistic and not in keeping with the ideals of free speech, though I have often wondered if there is anybody who is equally strident about the First and Second Amendments.
The short answer is "no," but the longer answer is that the Founders, in their elitist exclusivity, assumed a citizenry with the intelligence and good judgment to use freedom wisely.
Well, it shouldn't take a genius to know that, if you offer weapons of war rather than sporting guns, somebody's gonna want them, and if you offer people a look at nekkid wimmen, they're gonna look.
More troubling is that if you constantly inundate them with violent cop shows, they will feel threatened, and if you also fingerprint their children "to keep them safe," they'll learn to cheerfully give up all their freedom in return for Big Brother's loving protection.
So, yeah, at some point, it was probably just right, Arlo, but I'm not sure when that was either.
More About Monuments
Sarah Glidden has reposted a piece she did a few years ago about monuments (h/t to Tom Spurgeon) and it's worth reading on its own — this being only the first few panels — but it is also worth noting that she's not talking about heroic statues but memorials.
Yes, we should remember history, and others have noted that, in Germany, there are plaques remembering citizens who were hauled off to death, but there are no heroic statues of the Nazis who did it.
The whole issue of how you remember history without romanticizing villains and traitors begins, of course, with the fact that, in remembering the Holocaust, the people of Europe are not attempting to keep Jews, Roma and homosexuals suppressed, and so their goals differ from the goals of the people who erected our heroic Confederate statuary.
But there's puzzling, troubling complexity in history, and Mount Vernon and Monticello and other historical monuments and museums have struggled to reconcile and balance the public good their figures did with the evil they practiced in their private lives.
So here's a good example of a conundrum solved: How do you honor the hero of a turning point in our Revolution when he turned traitor a few years later?
Partially. That's how.
There's consensus that Benedict Arnold's heroic attack on the British position at Saratoga turned what would be at best a deadlock and perhaps defeat into victory.
He often clashed with his fellow officers, but they did admire him, and his men adored him, and, if he hadn't so badly damaged his leg in that battle, it might have stayed that way.
But he was invalided and given a bureaucratic post in Tory-laden Philadelphia and, throughout his career, cheated and lied about by political rivals and you can read about it here, and you'll also get a look at the inscription on the other side of that monument.
I would add that there are memorials to both British and Patriot at Saratoga, and both Union and Confederate at Gettysburg, but almost exclusively in the forms of tablets and obelisks.
And one boot.
Tearing the temple down
Michael Cavna marks the passing of a great man who made it possible to laugh at things of more importance than mother-in-law jokes.
Both Richard Pryor and Godfrey Cambridge began as dark-skinned fellows who told mother-in-law jokes, until Dick Gregory taught them to say what was on their minds.
And he demanded the rest of us listen.
Like the historic figures in the segment above, he had his complexities, conspiracy theories which I mention.
Heroes are complex people.
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