Serieus: gisteren komen bij de tweehonderdduizend mensen op Jon Stewart en Stephen Colbert’s Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear, en wat maken ze ervan op de Zevende Dag? Een “manifestatie voor meer fatsoen in de politiek”:
Op drie dagen van de tussentijdse verkiezingen in de Verenigde Staten kwamen tienduizenden de boodschap steunen, die gericht was tégen de Republikeinse partij.
NEEN GODVERDOMME. De boodschap was niét gericht tegen de Republikeinse partij, net zoals ze niet gericht was tegen de Democratische partij, of vóór deze of gene partij. Het was een oproep voor meer constructief debat, voor samenwerking, voor redelijkheid en géén zwartwitdenken. Bra-fucking-vo, Zevende Dag, om er precies dát van te maken dat het niét is.
Was het zó onnoemelijk moeilijk, beste Zevende Dag, om even op het internet te zoeken waar het precies over ging? Was het te lang voor de aandachtsspanne van de gemiddelde journalist om eventjes bijvoorbeeld de speech van Stewart te overlezen?
Hierzie, dit was die speech. Lees hem misschien eens. Er staat ook iets in over de pers. En schaam u dan diep.
I can’t control what people think this was. I can only tell you my intentions.
This was not a Rally to ridicule people of faith, or people of activism, or to look down our noses at the heartland, or passionate argument; or to suggest that times are not difficult, and that we have nothing to fear-they are and we do! But we live now in hard times, not end times. And we can have animus and not be enemies. But unfortunately, one our main tools in delineating the two…broke.
The country’s 24-hour politico pundit perpetual panic conflictinator did not cause our problems; but its existence makes solving them that much harder. The press can hold its magnifying glass up to our problems, bringing them into focus, illuminating issues here to for unseen. Or they can use that magnifying glass to light ants on fire, and then, perhaps, host a week of shows on the sudden unexpected dangerous flaming ant epidemic. If we amplify everything, we hear nothing.
There are terrorists, and racists, and Stalinists, and theocrats-but those are titles that must be earned; you must have the resume. Not being able to distinguish between real racists, and tea partiers; or real bigots and Juan Williams or Rick Sanchez is an insult! Not only to those people, but to the racists themselves who have put in the exhausting effort it takes to hate. Just as the inability to distinguish terrorists from Muslims makes us less safe, not more.
The press is our immune system, if it overreacts to everything, we actually get sicker, and perhaps eczema.
And yet with that being said, I feel good; strangely calmly good. Because the image of Americans that is reflected back to us by our political and media process is false. It is us through a fun house mirror. And not the good kind that makes you look slim in the waist and maybe taller. But the kind where you have a giant forehead, and an ass shaped like a month old pumpkin, and one eye ball.
So why would we work together. Why would you reach across the aisle to a pumpkin-assed forehead eyeball monster? If the picture of us were true, of course our inability to solve problems would actually be quite sane and reasonable. Why would you work with Marxists actively subverting our Constitution? Or racists and homophobes who see no one else’s humanity but their own?
We hear every damn day about how fragile our country is, on the brink of catastrophe, torn by polarizing hate, and how its a shame how we can’t work together to get things done.
But the truth is, we do. We work together to get things done every damn day! The only place we don’t is here [the capital building], or on cable TV. But Americans don’t live here [the capital building] or on cable TV. Where we live our values and principles form the foundation that sustains us while we get things done. Not the barriers that prevent us from getting things done. Most Americans don’t live their lives solely as democrats, republicans, liberals, or conservatives. Americans live their lives more as people that are just a little bit late for something they have to do. Often something they do not want to do, but they do it. Impossible things everyday that are only made possible through the little reasonable compromises we all make.
Look on the screen, this is where we are, this is who we are, these cars. That’s a school teacher that probably thinks his taxes are too high, he’s going to work. There’s another car, a woman with two small kids, really can’t think about anything else right now. There’s another car, swinging, I don’t even know if you can see it. The lady’s in the NRA and loves Oprah. There’s another car, an investment banker, gay, also likes Oprah. Another car is a Latino carpenter, another car, a fundamentalist vacuum salesman, atheist obstretician, Mormon JZ fan. But this is us! Every one of the cars that you see is filled with individuals of strong belief and principles they hold dear. Often principles and beliefs in direct opposition to their fellow travelers. And yet these millions of cars somehow find a way to squeeze one-by-one into a mile-long, 30-foot wide tunnel carved underneath a mighty river. Carved by people, by the way, who I’m sure had their differences.
And they do it. Concession by concession; you go, then I’ll go, you go, then I’ll go, you go, then I’ll go. Oh my god! Is that an NRA sticker on your car!? Is that an Obama sticker on your car!? Ah-well, that’s okay, you go, then I’ll go. And sure, at some point there will be a selfish jerk who zips up the shoulder and cuts in at the last minute, but that individual is rare, and he is scorned, and not hired as an analyst. Because we know, instinctively as a people, that if we are to get through the darkness, and back into the light, we have to work together. And the truth is, there will always be darkness, and sometimes the light at the end of a tunnel isn’t the promise land; sometimes its just New Jersey. But we do it anyway-together.
If you want to know why I’m here, and what I want from you, I can only assure you this. You have already given it to me; your presence was what I wanted. Sanity will always be, and has always been, in the eye of the beholder. And to see you here today, and the kind of people that you are, has restored mine.
Schaam u zeer diep, Zevende Dag.
Zeven seconden, en hopla, verder naar Leo bloederige Delcroix die mag vertellen hoe hij chocolade aan de Chinezen vertelt, en verder naar het voetbal, en dan naar de bloopers en de leutigheden. Met, oh ja, een stukje over Jon Stewart. Maar begot niets over de grond van de zaak, die hier even relevant is als daar.
En dan over naar de Angolees die de grootste mond ter wereld heeft, en naar een animatiefilmpje over politici, en die nonsens van een vrouw die een gsm zou hebben gehad in 1928.
Schaamtelijk. Serieus.
Bah.
