Or Samuel L. Vader, whateves … (audio NSFW):
Playgoers like to feel that they care about the world and their place in it.
They like to feel that they are on the side of the angels.
Some years ago there was an unaccountable fashion for the plays of Athol Fugard. A fine writer whose sudden popularity on Broadway was puzzling till one turned one’s gaze from the stage to look at the audience. There they were. Well-dressed New Yorkers deploring the horrors of apartheid without having to actually do anything about it. They’d bought a ticket which proved they cared so they could ignore with a clear conscience the racism that waited outside the theatre. It got so bad that Mr. Fugard refused to write any more on the subject. He felt that he was becoming part of the problem as his work merely exploited the suffering of others, making him rich at their expense. Which, it seems to me, is precisely what Mr. Daisey has done.
Your humble correspondent was humbled even further last night when I asked this question on Twitter:
Can somebody rerack #stopkony / Invisible Children for me: what the hell IS this? #help
And thus began an hour-long descent into madness — watching the Kony 2012 film, getting terribly moved and excited, and twittering my support. And then, the thought of actually forking over money for The Cause crossed my mind.
And then a little voice began to whisper, and then shout: “STOP. You don’t know these guys from Adam. And how much of this money is going straight into the group’s pizza-and-beer fund, anyway?”
And then the hope and empowerment and all that new-age crap turned into doubt, and cynicism, and then out-and-out disdain. It culminated tonight with the heads of the group getting all mushy about “what happens next,” and why only a third of the donated dough actually goes to efforts on the ground in Africa — all as told to Piers Morgan on his Hour of Gab.
So, the final verdict (after all of 24 hours, mind you) is this: Stop Kony? Sure. But the holier-than-thou, preening minds behind it all can GET BENT.
All of this is terribly complicated. They’re doing a service, surely. But they’re getting famous. And they are going to get a shitload of money coming in. And nobody knew who they were on Monday. In the immortal words of Vince Lombardi: “WHAT DE HELL IS GOING ON OUT HERE?!” Some thoughts, post-jump.
Erick Erickson: “Well of course Rush Limbaugh was being insulting. It is not something I would do, but he was using insult and sarcasm to highlight the absurdity of Sandra Fluke and the left’s position, which in a nut shell is they think you, me, and every other American should pay for them to have sex. And while I understand people being offended, I am offended by many of these same people thinking I should be subsidizing what has, for years, been considered a consensual act.” [RedState]
“It is five minutes to midnight. Two years ago, it appeared that world leaders might address the truly global threats that we face. In many cases, that trend has not continued or been reversed. For that reason, the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists is moving the clock hand one minute closer to midnight, back to its time in 2007.”
Meet Dorli Rainey, age 84, shortly after being pepper sprayed at Occupy Seattle. Since she’s a senior citizen, I bet she votes, so she can’t get shit on that front. But I’m sure the MSM will find a way to mock and marginalize her, too.
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant South,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
And the sudden smell of burning flesh!
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.