[FoRK] Fwd: Keep Pope Alive -- Taibbi ("It was a joint effort, between us and the shit.")

Joe Barrera joe at barrera.org
Thu Mar 10 16:51:43 PST 2005

AKA the 52 saddest things about the the death of the press.

Thanks, Kelley.

-------- Original Message --------
Subject: 	Keep Pope Alive -- Taibbi
Resent-Date: 	Thu, 10 Mar 2005 09:35:06 -0800 (PST)
Resent-From: 	pulp at rakfoundry.com
Date: 	Thu, 10 Mar 2005 12:38:49 -0500
From: 	Kelley <kelley at inkworkswell.com>
To: 	pulp at rakfoundry.com

NY Press, March 9-15, 2005
What a week.

By Matt Taibbi

Late last week I was in Santa Maria, California, covering the Michael 
Jackson trial for a magazine, when I got an email from Press editor Jeff Koyen:

>>The shit has hit the fan. Going on NY1 tonight to respond to Congressman 
Weiner's press release, wherein he urges people to throw our paper out.



My first thought was—Why? I'd been on the road, hadn't had a chance to look 
at the new issue online, so I could only imagine. But clearly it must have 
been something terrible, if a goddamn congressman was making noise about it 
in public.

I called Jeff. We exchanged pleasantries. He had just come back from the 
NY1 interview. I asked him about his pet fish, his vacation plans. It was 
about four minutes into the phone call before I realized the fuss was over 
my column, the one about the pope, which I had written in the waning hours 
of a Vicodin haze the previous Saturday morning.

"You're kidding," I said, laughing.

"No, I'm definitely not kidding," he said. He wasn't laughing. "It was 
linked on Matt Drudge this morning—something about it being an outrage. 
Chuck Schumer said something about how it was the most appalling thing he'd 
seen in 30 years."

"That's hilarious!" I said, still not getting it.

"Yeah, well," Jeff said. "Congressman Weiner has issued a press release 
calling for New Yorkers to throw our paper in the trash."

"Outstanding," I said. "That's illegal, isn't it?"

It was about two full days before I realized that no one back in the Press 
offices was laughing. I didn't take it seriously at first, because the 
scale of the whole thing seemed so completely unbelievable. For an 
off-the-cuff burlesque of Truly Tasteless Jokes, designed mainly to give 
readers a light break between what had lately been a long run of 
fulminating political essays in my column space, the paper found itself 
denounced by Hillary Clinton, Mike Bloomberg, Abe Foxman and pilloried on 
talk radio stations all across the country. Then, thanks to Matt Drudge, 
the Press was made into an exploding blog villain across cyberspace 
practically overnight.

Friends and acquaintances in the south and in the west and everyplace else 
called to tell me that the Press, and I myself, were being skewered at that 
very moment In Their Neighborhood. In Dallas someone apparently called for 
me to be burned at the stake, while in an unfortunate development some 
hot-blooded Baltimore radio show alerted my already-estranged Irish 
Catholic relatives to my misdeeds.

The hate mail was a flood by Friday. A polite schoolteacher in Ottawa 
gently implored me to shoot myself. Another writer, who left his note 
unsigned, wrote simply: "Burn In Hell You Fucking Dog." The typical 
Christian response usually involved some combination of the phrases 1) "I 
believe in the first Amendment as much as the next guy, but..." and 2) "You 
will pay in the next world" and 3) "For all that, the Pope forgives you." 
The order of the punishment and the forgiveness varied, but they were 
usually both in there, side by mutually reinforcing side.

Meanwhile, back in New York, the Press website was so overloaded with 
traffic that it was effectively shut down for almost a week. The paper's 
offices were flooded with media interview requests and advertiser 
complaints, and there was turmoil and indecision within the office ranks, 
ultimately leading—as Press readers have probably heard already—to the 
resignation of my good friend Jeff Koyen, the editor-in-chief.

Much of the mail I received seethingly anticipated that either I or the 
editors of the Press would turn around this week and try to cast ourselves 
as free speech martyrs, once we were a) fired or b) boycotted or c) both. 
I'm going to have to disappoint here. Nothing so noble as a real 
freedom-of-speech conflict actually took place in this case. The only 
accurate metaphor to describe what happened to the paper last week was 
stepping in shit. The shit was there, and we stepped in it of our own 
volition. It was a joint effort, between us and the shit.

Look, we're all educated people. Even Anthony Weiner has a B.A. from 
SUNY-Plattsburgh. And as educated people we all realize that the "The 52 
Funniest Things About the Upcoming Death of the Pope" had almost nothing to 
do with the pope or Catholics whatsoever, and certainly wasn't hate speech.

If there was hate in the piece, it was not for the pope. It was for the 
agonizing marathon of mechanized media grief and adulation we so inevitably 
go through after the passing of each and every hallowed leader or 
celebrity. It was for the transparently fake unity of Democratic and 
Republican senators alike holding hands, hanging their heads, and—live on 
Fox and MSNBC—shedding a tear as good soldiers fold the flag at the passing 
of the great man, Ronald Reagan.

It's not only funerals, but memorial services and various other pagan 
rituals; we are all supposed to weep on the anniversary of 9/11, and defer 
publicly to soldiers, and cheer for whichever bland milquetoast cine-blob 
wins Best Picture.

But some of us don't want to cheer for the little girl who gets pulled out 
of the well, or get misty-eyed before the leader's casket. In fact, some of 
us get physically ill, and angry, during each and every one of these orgies 
of rote media emotion.

"The 52 Funniest Things About the Death of the Pope" was way over the top, 
but it was commensurate—to the 197 consecutive fucking hours of Pope 
funeral coverage on cable we all know is coming very soon, with every 
politician on earth with a nose for Catholic votes lining up for a chance 
to blow into his hanky at the podium. We saw a preview of that last week; 
doubtless the Bloomberg, Clinton, Schumer and Weiner press releases at the 
pope's actual death will be of about the same length, and sent with the 
same alacrity to the same newspapers, as the ones released at his 
joke-death last week.

This, incidentally, is what the alternative media is supposed to be for. 
While all across the major media landscape every public figure—every 
politician and every NBA star and every superficially grief-stricken 
plastic anchorman—will be "deeply saddened" and hanging his head duringthe 
obligatory moment of silence, there has to be someplace where the 
individual psychopath-loser, i.e. me, can say "I don't care." And not 
necessarily because it's right or wrong to think that way, but because a 
mandatory opinion held by everybody is no opinion at all. If we can't joke 
about the pope, then the pope, quite frankly, is not very serious.

One more thing about what happened with us last week. In situations like 
this, when someone says or does something that outrages not just the left 
or the right but everyone, we have this habit of jumping on the offender 
with both feet and demanding an apology. Whether it's Ward Churchill with 
his "little Eichmanns," or that kid at UMass who called Pat Tillman a 
"pendejo," or Trent Lott, or Shaq squinting and talking about Yao in 
gibberish Chinese, we pile on until the guy squeaks. Apparently we respect 
a person more if he wilts under pressure and changes his opinions for the 
sake of convenience.

It was crazy that that mechanism came into play here, and it would be even 
crazier for us to actually apologize. This was an extremely silly, trivial, 
stupid joke. If senators have time for this, they must not be busy enough.


"Be a scribe! Your body will be sleek, your hand
will be soft. You are  one who sits grandly in your
house; your servants answer speedily; beer is poured
copiously; all who see you rejoice in good cheer.
Happy is  the heart of him who writes; he is young
each day."

                 --Ptahhotep, Vizier to Isesi,
                   Fifth Egyptian Dynasty, 2300 BC                  

I was born of the Devil's victory
But I'm hoping that love will set us free

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