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For a guy who claimed Monday he was too busy to blog, Todd Epp had a couple excellent posts this week dealing with political labels.
One is a nice post on the Socialist Club at Roosevelt High School. I was thinking about doing something on it because my youngest daughter is a junior at Roosevelt. When she mentioned the club’s approval a couple weeks ago I expected Roosevelt’s new principal, Don Ryswyk, to catch some heat. My daughter’s not a member but it’s refreshing to see that Ryswyk understands that exploring and discussing ideas is (horrors!) education.
Todd followed that yesterday with a look at South Dakota’s “liberal media.” Evidently, the “L word” has become so tainted that even the report Todd cites shies away from it. Although it uses the terms “conservative” and “centrist,” there aren’t any “liberal” columnists in the report. Instead, they are “progressives.”
Gee, with these studies and perhaps even columnists horning in on things, maybe I should try to distinguish the blog by calling it “A Progressive Socialist on the Prairie”? Anyway, a hat tip to Todd, who probably (and rightfully) is quite proud of the “liberal” appellation.
Fear of ideas makes us impotent and ineffective.
U.S. Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas
Please use your liberty to promote ours.
Aung San Suu Kyi, International Herald Tribune, Feb. 4, 1997
In light of my recent post about modern life and dystopias, the Dystopian Movie meme I found at SFSignal seemed timely. The rule is simply to put in bold the movies you’ve seen from the following list of top 50 dystopian movies.
- Metropolis (1927)
- A Clockwork Orange (1971)
- Brazil (1985)
- Wings of Desire (1987)
- Blade Runner (1982)
- Children of Men (2006)
- The Matrix (1999)
- Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior (1981)
- Minority Report (2002)
- Delicatessen (1991)
- Sleeper (1973)
- The Trial (1962)
- Alphaville (1965)
- Twelve Monkeys (1995)
- Serenity (2005)
- Pleasantville (1998)
- Ghost in the Shell (1995)
- Battle Royale (2000)
- RoboCop (1987)
- Akira (1988)
- The City of Lost Children (1995)
- Planet of the Apes (1968)
- V for Vendetta (2005)
- Metropolis (2001)
- Gattaca (1997)
- Fahrenheit 451 (1966)
- On The Beach (1959)
- Mad Max (1979)
- Total Recall (1990)
- Dark City (1998)
- War Of the Worlds (1953)
- District B13 (2004)
- They Live (1988)
- THX 1138 (1971)
- Escape from New York (1981)
- A Scanner Darkly (2006)
- Silent Running (1972)
- Artificial Intelligence: AI (2001)
- Nineteen Eighty-Four (1984)
- A Boy and His Dog (1975)
- Soylent Green (1973)
- I Robot (2004)
- Logan’s Run (1976)
- Strange Days (1995)
- Idiocracy (2006)
- Death Race 2000 (1975)
- Rollerball (1975)
- Starship Troopers (1997)
- One Point O (2004)
- Equilibrium (2002)
As I clock in at having seen more than half the movies (and there’s at least four others I’ve seen parts of), I hypothetically know whereof I speak when it comes to fictional dystopias.
I must admit, though, feeling somewhat troubled by even appearing to claim any expertise — or discussing the topic — when the last two weeks tragically prove that not all dystopias are fictional. My freedom to air my concerns about where the U.S. is heading or for any of us to even discuss topics like the “best” dystopian movies is a razor-like contrast to the desire for freedom being crushed and people disappearing in the real dystopias that exist in the 21st Century. More, in a way, tomorrow.
People simply disappeared, always during the night. Your name was removed from the registers, every record of everything you had ever done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied and then forgotten. You were abolished, annihilated: vaporized was the usual word.
George Orwell, 1984
Perspective requires time. With six years having passed since the events of September 11, 2001, we are beginning to see some critical analysis not only of the ramifications of that day but how we responded as a nation. In The Terror Dream: Fear and Fantasy in Post-9/11 America, Susan Faludi provides a unique view of our response. Even if you don’t agree with her, her case is both well-researched and well-written.
Faludi, an award-winning journalist and author, argues that after 9/11 America withdrew into a “dream state” marked by four perhaps uniquely American archetypes. The archetypes are related and based in significant, if not exclusive, part on the cultural roles we have historically assigned the sexes. At bottom, they indicate that America engaged in myth-making rather than addressing the reality of the events of that day.
The first step, according to her, was to undermine and demote the concepts of strong women and the role of women as leaders and equals in society. Faludi points out how media coverage following 9/11 focused on firemen and other males as the heroes of the day. Although women also played heroic roles that day, in the rescue effort and in the aftermath aftermath, they were difficult, if not impossible, to find amidst the heroes of the day. At first glance, this may not only seem conflict with our recollections of the time but Faludi simply returning to a topic she explored in Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women . Yet, as in Backlash, Faludi’s use of facts and statistics (with supporting footnotes) documents the minimization of the female voice in the media in the aftermath of 9/11. This effort not only undercut, but seemingly reversed many of the gains women had seen with the advent and growth of the feminist movement.
Hand-in-hand with the demotion of the strong, independent woman came the increasing build-up and importance of “manly men.” She sees America Hearkening back to 1950s Westerns with the John Wayne-type hero, the big strong man who would save the day and risk his life — or even die — trying. For example, she notes how four men were built up as the manly heroes on Flight 93 while the female flight attendants were relegated to weak roles. She also points out how Time magazine’s first issue after 9/11 showed only men under the banner “Heroes” while the one photo under “Survivor” was of a bloodied woman sitting on a curb, a man with a badge putting his hands on her shoulders in a sign of protection and strong comfort. Likewise, all but one of the photos in the “Heroes” section of Newsweek‘s 9/11 Commemorative Issue, were of men. “The one example of female heroism offered was a cameo of two women in the line of traditional feminine duty: elementary school teachers who ‘did their best to appear calm and look after their kids.'”
The portrayal of the elementary school teachers dovetails into Faludi’s third point — that there was a greater emphasis on domesticity. The hero would work and provide protection while the little lady took care of the children and kept the the fires burning on the home front. Among other things, The Terror Dream notes how 9/11 widows were treated compassionately and with kid gloves by the press, particularly if pregnant at the time their husbands died. But if the widows were driving for an investigation of the government’s actions on that date or otherwise questioning what was being done, they were seen as having forfeited their “victim tiara.”
Finally, these combined to help create the ultimate archetype — the manly hero will search for and save an almost sanctified helpless female. As she commented in an op-ed piece shortly before this year’s 9/11 anniversary, Faludi traces much of this back to traditional rescue tales stemming from as early as the Puritan colonies in America. The post-9/11 example is Jessica Lynch. While she was at first portrayed as fighting to her last bullet before being captured in the early days of the Iraq war, an equally false myth developed and took hold. Lynch ended up being the virginal lass (the school marm) kidnapped by evildoers (Indians) and who could be saved only by a large number of men (the sheriff and his posse) who risked their lives taking on those evildoers. Despite Lynch’s protestations and other evidence to the contrary, the story was not only repeated in her ghost written book about the events surrounding her capture, it became almost unassailable.
Ultimately, Faludi seems to believe that our retreat into this fantasy or “terror dream” reveals an aspect of an American belief in invincibility, one that exists so long as these archetypes exist. As a result, America tends to ignore reality in order to feel safe and secure when, in fact, these archetypes may actually undermine our response to actual events and conditions because they contradict the story we want to believe.
Whether Faludi’s analysis is right, a possible aspect of what 9/11 says about us as a nation, or a feminist-based response to post-9/11 America will undoubtedly be the subject of continuing and likely heated debate. There is no doubt, however, that The Terror Dream is a cogent and distinctive view of the American psyche and post-9/11 American culture.
To not understand the mythic underpinnings of our response to 9/11 is, in a fundamental way, to not understand ourselves, to be so unknowing about the way we inhabit our cultural roles that we are stunned, insensible, when confronted by a moment that requires our full attention.
Susan Faludi, The Terror Dream
On the cusp of the release of Bruce Springsteen’s latest, Magic, I’m not ready to declare it a classic or a masterpiece. It has a few moments that are a bit too predictable, almost somewhat formula. But repeated listening, bolstered by seeing a recording of the performances on The Today Show this past Friday, reinforces what a great artist he is. And it goes beyond musicianship. It’s also what he says about America and Americans.
As an artist, Springsteen’s longevity is almost mind-boggling. Here’s a guy who first captured attention with his music in the 1970s but also could dominate the charts in the 1980s and in the 21st Century. You can’t command audiences and hit the charts for 30+ years without continuing relevance and an ability to speak to the audience. Who can listen to Born To Run and not feel they’re part of the Jersey Shore and, more important, that life there and wherever we may live is built around many of the same joys, heartbreaks and dreams we all know?
Yet as Bruce, like the rest of us, got older, those skills didn’t dull and more of the political crept into his music. Both The River and Nebraska come to mind but what really jumps to the forefront is 1984’s Born in the U.S.A. It is not Bruce simply being an observer of life, it is in no small part him as an observer of America, the good and the bad and the continuing hope it can be better. The title cut is not the flag on the sleeve tune so many regarded it as. It is political commentary. Similarly, there is “My Hometown,” which closes the album and tells a tale with which we either identify or empathize In our hearts and minds, he’s talking about our hometown. Still, this is a commentary on America — the good, the bad, the potential.
If you don’t believe the fans invest in his music, just watch a tape of “My Hometown” performed on The Today Show Friday — or any live performances. Many fans seem almost mesmerized and transported away by the music. But then, how many musicians and bands could lead a nationally broadcast show to push back its newscast and disrupt the rest of the show so they could play more songs than they were scheduled to perform? Yet that is just what Springsteen and the E Street Band did (they were scheduled for four and played seven) for the fans crowding Rockefeller Plaza.
Jump from Born in the U.S.A. to 2002’s The Rising. We have yet to see the great post-9/11 novel or film. Yet this may be the quintessential post-9/11 album. You can read the political into it but the overwhelming arc was reality and hope — how individuals and families felt, how lives were affected and a sense of spirit and unity amidst the sorrow. These were tales frequently told or illustrated at some point through the metaphor of a simple kiss or the touch of a hand. Again, the music can transport us by itself but throughout the songs are heartfelt and honest reflections of the gamut of human emotion and the resiliency of human spirit.
Springsteen followed this by again returning to the roots of American music with Devils & Dust and We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions. This is roots music not just because it reflects the source of an American sound in music but also a sense and feel of America. There is the touch of the the political but, again, even those songs celebrate being American and being human, in both instances with all our virtues and all our faults.
Magic continues the exploration of America and American values. More than the other releases of the last five years, this is a full range of pop-rock styles, hooks and “Springsteenian” touches. Yet as Springsteen said on The Today Show, there’s a twist of the political, the songwriter shifting the tunes just a little off center. It is not just an exploration of those rock styles, it is a subtle — and sometimes not so subtle — commentary on America and Americans.
The Rising reflected what we Americans, individually and collectively, experienced on 9/11. The “Vote for Change” performances and elements of Devils and Dust and The Seeger Sessions commented on where America was going in the aftermath of that event. Magic looks at where we are and how we got here. It expresses the sense that somehow America has strayed from the ideals and values on which it was based and in which we all believe. Springsteen, in fact, fears America (read, its government) has gone so far astray that we face a very long walk if we hope to get the nation back to those ideals. In fact, when Springsteen introduced “Living in the Future” from Magic on the The Today Show, he talked about the things we love about America — from cheeseburgers and fries to the Bill of Rights but how in the last few years we’ve seen extraordinary rendition, wiretapping and loss of habeas corpus. He did what he does best to raise awareness — “sing about it.”
Although I’ve heard Magic plenty of times now thanks to it leaking on the internet, I will make a special point to go out and buy it Tuesday morning. It won’t be because the quality and mix of the internet version I have isn’t the best or that it’s important to support artists by not using downloads to take their work for free or even that I want to hold it in my hands, although all those play a role. Knowing what’s on it, buying Magic is also buying (and buying into) one of the best parts of America — what it means and what it can be.
The magic of Bruce Springsteen isn’t just his extraordinary musicianship and songwriting. It’s because in expressing himself with those talents he tries to illustrate and hold us all to concepts and ideals upon which America was founded.
You know the flag flyin’ over the courthouse
Means certain things are set in stone
Who we are, what we’ll do, and what we want
It’s gonna be a long walk home
“Long Walk Home,” Bruce Springsteen, Magic
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