The New Yorker & American Stupidity
The current falderall and fiddle-dee-dee over the latest New Yorker magazine cover showing the Obamas dressed in radical Muslim garb highlights the shrinking intellectual capacity of mainstream political America. Candidates are scrutinized for any utterance deemed offensive to the sensibilities of one nano-identity or another. Now, it seems, even the venerable publishers of high-brow journalism are fodder for the righteous indignation of the identity sensitive.
Of course, this hyper-sensitivity to identity issues extends beyond the political arena. The recent big blow over the cartoon depicting Muhammad reveals an explosive readiness to take offense for perceived religious defamation (except, of course, in the case of Jesus who is fair game for anybody) and, as always, we have with us those prickly race, gender, sexual orientation, and ethnic landmines. It seems there’s nobody you can make fun of anymore.
The New Yorker thing is somewhat of a watershed event, however. The outcry against the magazine for insensitivity strikes at the heart of one of its core journalistic contributions, that of literate, nuanced satire. Obama spokesman Bill Burton said in a statement that “most readers will see it as tasteless and offensive.” David Remnick, the magazine’s editor disagreed, replying, “I think you underestimate the intelligence of the American people, to be quite honest. Yes, there will be some people who will misunderstand it, not get it at first . . . If there’s no possibility for satire, if you always have to look for the joke that every — absolutely everyone will get, you won’t have Jon Stewart, you won’t have Stephen Colbert.”
In spite of voices, both conservative and liberal, defending the New Yorker cover, the tide has turned against, not only literate satire, but all forms of social and religious criticism. (This does not include, of course, targeting our culture’s twin tyrants Male Domination and Evangelical Christianity against which all tolerant citizens must be intolerant.) This turn, however, like so many social “convictions,” is not only facile but disingenuous. It is true that some will always misunderstand subtle gestures, but I think the most telling issue here is duplicity. As Remnick asserts, most of us know that the New Yorker cover is satire—or at least mere cartoon, but the overall tenor of the situation is, as always, established by the shrieking wounded who know an opportunity when they see it. This isn’t about what the New Yorker plainly intended, but about cultural guerrilla warfare: be offended; accuse of insensitivity; the other guys will fold. It’s how you rule when your mob is smaller than the other mob.
Go New Yorker. Cripple our tiny timerity. Offend us, every one.
