Author: wdfyfe

Before WD called himself a writer, he worked at a number of different jobs from stacking lumber to interior design. He studied English at UBC and creative writing at ASU where one of his teachers, Rita Dove, taught him the importance of the tale. He has written for radio, magazines and newspapers, but never television. He’s published both fiction and nonfiction in Great Britain and the US. He reads French passably and speaks enough Spanish to get from A to B and find the toilet. He has interviewed John Cleese, Peter Ustinov, Margaret Drabble, Kenneth Branagh and enough other famous people to make him a hopeless name dropper. His not-so-secret passions are history and trivia, and he has never lost a game of Trivial Pursuit — although he did come 4th one drunken Quiz Night at the Uxbridge in Notting Hill. He lives on the Pacific Ocean, although, not close enough to see, so he spends his days looking at a computer screen. It’s a wonderful life and he has only one regret: he can’t type faster.

It’s Time to Judge Journalists

There’s been a tectonic shift in the cosmic balance on earth this week.  Less than a month ago, Rupert Murdoch was the name mothers used to frighten little politicians.  “Eat your vegetables, Tony, or Rupert Murdoch will get you!”  Today, British lawmakers are skipping through the halls of Parliament, singing “Who’s afraid of the big bad Murdoch?” and have actually invited the bogeyman to come and see them.  (Personally, I thought he’d tell them to go take a hike.)  The reason the Members of Parliament from all points north of Land’s End have found their cojones is that in the great game of sleaze, Murdoch blinked.  He admitted he had his fingers in the cookie jar when he shut down News of the World.  Had he brassed it out, I’m not so sure the honourable members of Her Majesty’s realm would be talking quite so tough this morning.  However, they are, and it’s a new world.  The King of Tittle-Tattle, whose very name used to scare the bejesus out of elected officials in Britain, is going to be judged.  And as sure as eggs is eggs, he’s about to get a thrashing – six of the best, trousers down.  Paybacks are… you get the idea.

However, this brings us to an interesting point.  For more than a century, journalists have been collecting, categorizing and rating everything they could get their grimy little mitts on.  Theatre critics pan plays at their leisure.  Food critics can make or break a chef’s Cordon bleu, and movies flare or fade depending on who gets invited to the Premiere After Party.  Plus, every media outlet has an Op-ed section where editors or anchors blow forth on everything from scientists to celebrities.  No one is safe from journalistic judgement.  If you happen to step into the spotlight, expect somebody with a laptop or a camera to peek into your underwear drawer and critique your selections.  They do this because, in general, the public – us — want somebody (in this case journalists) to sift through the crap of life – books, plays, politicians — and tell us what’s good enough to waste our time on.  It’s easier than hunting this stuff up for ourselves.  Unfortunately, as we’re finding out, things have gotten way out of hand.

Of course, journalistic judgement is all just a matter of opinion, but some critics actually start believing their reviews.  They write and speak as if theirs is the lost testament of the prophet Ezekiel, and wield power like a cut-rate Oprah on Book Club day.  In short, the audience goes to their head.  They expect respect, and when they don’t get it, they become savages.  Cross a journalist too many times and you’ll find yourself playing Lord of the Flies, The Home Game – and you’re Piggy.  Rupert Murdoch’s employees are just the major league version.  Believe me, it works the same with the Willow Bunch Shopper or the North Nowhere Weekly Bugle.  This is how Murdoch got so scary.

However, now that the mob has turned against him and his minions, maybe it’s time we quit relying on journalistic opinion.  Perhaps we should even come up with a rating system for journalists.   After all, they’ve been doing it to the rest of us for years.  Some celebrity gains five pounds and he’s over the hill.  Somebody else makes an unsubstantiated charge of sexual harassment (or worse) and the roof caves in.  And there hasn’t been a politician since 1945 who wasn’t compared to Adolf Hitler at least once.  (Currently, Barak Obama is rated two Hitlers wide and four Hitlers high.)  Maybe it’s time we turned the telescope the other way on these gasbags, cracked out the Sleaze Meter and did some comparison shopping.

The problem is how would you rate them?  Like fast food: sleazy, extra sleazy and super-sleaze-me?  Or maybe like movies, except instead of stars, we could use buckets of slime?  That way we could talk about three and four slime journalism.  Or perhaps we could just use an inverted triangle with Rupert Murdoch upside down at the bottom and the rest of them clawing their way down to get there.  Personally, I like a straight number system; International Murdoch Units.  For example, a newspaper that hacks the phone records of teenage murder victims could be assigned 100 International Murdochs.  A television network that convicts a lacrosse team of rape — without any evidence  – could be given 99.5 Murdochs.  Radio stations that blather on about President Obama’s birth certificate could be given 99 units and so on and so forth.  Journalists themselves could also be assigned numbers starting with Rebekah Brooks who could be 100 Murdochs, Nancy Grace could be 99.999 and guys like Glenn Beck 106.  Then a simple formula of accumulated International Murdoch Units divided by the journalist’s own Murdoch Number would reveal just how sleazy each media outlet is.  Eventually, we news consumers could get a pretty clear picture, and we could adjust our reading, viewing and listening habits accordingly.

This is a great idea whose time has come because, while I do NOT advocate censorship, some really despicable characters have been hiding behind freedom of the press for years.  And somebody better take a good, hard look at what journalists have been up to lately — and not just in Britain, either.

South Sudan: A Short History

If I was even a minor official in the government of South Sudan right now, I’d be just a little bit pissed off.   A couple of days ago, July 9th, the Republic of South Sudan became the newest nation on the planet.  There was wall-to-wall media coverage.  Juba, the capital, was full of cameramen, reporters and dignitaries — Obama’s grandma was there, for God’s sake!  Even the bimbos at CNN were pronouncing Salva Kiir Mayardit properly.  Everybody and his friend was trying to grab a piece of history.  Today, less than a week later, you can’t find enough news about South Sudan to fill up a good-sized Tweet.  I’ll grant you Mia Farrow and George Clooney have a lot of things to do, and the Western media is busy eating its own over the Rupert Murdoch debacle, but this has got to be one of the fastest kiss-offs in history.

The people of South Sudan have been at this nation-building business for quite some time.  This is because they are totally different people from the folks in the north.  There’s been a lot of rhetoric about Moslems and Christians lately, but don’t take that to the bank; it isn’t worth much.  The fact is the northern Sudanese are Arabs, and the southern Sudanese are Africans.  The only reason they were ever in the same country in the first place is the British wanted to save money in the late 40s when Sudan was still a colony – except it wasn’t.  It’s all rather confusing, but here’s a decaffeinated account.

The entire British Empire was an administrative mess for most of its history, and Africa was particularly complicated.  In the case of South Sudan, first of all, Egypt and Sudan were never actually British colonies.  In the 19th century, Sudan was part of Egypt (although their legal writ didn’t go very far up the Nile.)  Egypt, on the other hand (and therefore Sudan) was, legally, an independent province of the Ottoman Empire.  Of course, the reality was different.  The British were running the show in Cairo.  There was a huge British presence in Egypt because the Brits owned the Suez Canal and they were going to protect it, come hell or high water.  Therefore, they basically told the Khedive of Egypt (the local dictator) he could either do as he was told or Britain would find a new Khedive with better hearing.  The Khedive listened the first time — every time — and it was a good arrangement.  Egypt was independent (wink, wink) and the Brits wandered around as if they owned the place.  Britain extended its formal authority into Sudan only after Herbert Kitchener put a stop to the 19th century’s version of Al Qaeda (with maxim guns) at the slaughter of Omdurman in 1898.  After that, Sudan was considered (get this) a condominium under Anglo Egyptian control, but South Sudan was always administered as a separate province.  Again, it was a good arrangement.  However, after World War II, in a wave of postwar austerity, the Brits decided to save some money and combine the two colonial administrations.  It didn’t really matter who was what in 1947 because the Colonial Office ran the country without a whole lot of input from the local folks – so nobody cared.

Unfortunately, when it came time for independence, it mattered a great deal.  The British screwed up.  They were in such a rush to feel the “winds of change,” they forgot that what they’d been calling Sudan for less than a decade was actually two different countries — and had been for thirteen centuries before they got there.  So, in 1956, when the British said, “You’re all Sudanese now.  Have fun.  Be good.  See you around!” and packed their packs and left, the result was civil war.  It ran hot and cold for the next fifty years.

To the South Sudanese, this week must look like déjà vu all over again.   Here they are trying their best to join the family of nations, and the family seems to have disappeared, just like it did in 1956.  I’m sure there are tons of things going on, but I’m seriously perplexed that none of it is making its way into the media.  It’s like the world’s newest nation dropped off the face of the earth.  Celebrities and the media played a huge role in getting these people a negotiated independence.  They can’t just walk away now.  As of Saturday,

the South Sudanese automatically qualify as one of the poorest nations on earth.  They need everything.  We’ve heard a lot of hot air in the last ten years about nation building; South Sudan is a perfect opportunity for the world to help some pretty diligent people build theirs.  Here is a chance for the rest of us to do it right.  I’m just worried that now that it’s no longer “trendy,” we’re not going to even try it.

Harry Potter and the Last Space Shuttle

As any four-year-old (or Rupert Murdoch) will tell you, it’s easy to shut things down.  All you do is say, “It’s over!” and quit doing whatever it is you’re doing.  Fait accompli!  For example, last week we saw the end of a couple of things.

There was the end of the Harry Potter movie franchise.   After what seems like 35 years and 8 (or is it 10?) movies, Harry and the gang finally faded to black seriously.  For a while there, I thought they were doing Hogwarts on the instalment plan and were going to end up graduating with Archie and Veronica: Hermione pregnant and the Weasley boys all looking miserable.  Don’t get me wrong: I love Harry Potter, but in literature, he can remain a student forever; up on the big screen, he aged noticeably.  Once Harry and Ron started talking about liability insurance and mortgages, I lost interest.  Besides, unlike the original stories, the movies have a sameness that defies description.  The Goblet of Fire looks remarkably like The Half-Blood Prince, and, I assume, are both enlisted in The Order of the Phoenix.  I just got totally tired of the constant dickin’ around.  Unlike the books (which naturally follow each other) the movies run over the same ground, 8 (or is it 10?) times.  From the beginning, everybody and his muggle knows who the bad guy is, so why was it left to three rapidly aging adolescents to piece together the mystery?  And how come Dumbledore didn’t just round up Hagrid and the rest of the faculty, grab a few dragons on the way, and go kick Voldemort’s ass?  Luckily, 100% of the kids who watch the movies have already read the books because the franchise never bothers to explain these finer points.

J. K. Rowlings wrote some wonderful books that brought adventure back to children’s literature.  The books are fun for kids, and adults can read them, as well.  They aged along with their readers.  The movie franchise, however, disregarded what Rowlings was doing and struck out on their own.  They decided that — instead of adventure — they’d use some dark-and-stormy-night shenanigans to tell what is essentially a kids’ story.  I’m glad they’re over, and in a couple of years, when I get the bad taste out of my mouth I’m going to read the books again and enjoy them.

Last week we also saw the end of NASA’s Space Shuttle program.   After thirty years and 135 missions, when Atlantis touches down on Mother Earth next week, that’s it: no more shuttles.  I’m not really sure how this is going to work, given that they left a couple of folks sitting up in the International Space Station.  Honestly, if it was me up there I’d have my suitcase packed and be saying something like, “Hey, guys!  Where ya goin’?”  Apparently, it’s all good though.  The US is just going to pay Russia to haul their astronauts back and forth, at least until Richard Branson’s Virgin Galactic gets off the ground — literally.  Personally, I’m overwhelmed by the irony.  The nation that once shot billions of dollars into the air — just to make sure the first boot on the moon was Neil’s and not Nikita’s — is now asking Nicky to drive the bus!  The old comrades who worked on the original Soviet Soyuz program are probably having a couple of vodkas and a few high fives over this one.  “Who is doing the laughing now, running dog capitalists?”

The thing is some people are blowing this all out of proportion.  They’re saying things like this is the beginning of the end of the American Empire or it’s the high water mark of Western influence over history.  Although I fear for the end of the American Empire, I doubt if the death of the shuttle program marks anything.  In reality, NASA is finally getting out from under a huge mistake they made after they quit going to the moon in 1972.  At that point, they should have abandoned the process of putting people on top of a ballistic missile and gunning them into space.  Instead, they should have developed a vehicle that could both take off and land from the relative safety of terra firma, just like Branson is doing (even as we speak.)  If they had done that, today, ordinary billionaires would be taking their mistresses on vacations to the Sea of Tranquillity, and Moon Base One would probably have a Trump Hotel and casino.  Unfortunately, NASA was so locked in to rockets in the 70s they wasted billions of dollars and 40 years.  Now they have to play catch-up — just at a time when Obama and Congress have to start watching their pennies.  Oh, well!  Better late than never.

Finally, last week marked the end of the News of the World and although everyone applauded, it didn’t actually end; it just changed its name to protect the guilty.  You can read about it here.

Endings are easy.  It’s beginnings that are hard.  The people of South Sudan, the newest nation in the world, are about to find that out.

Wednesday: The nuts and bolts of nation-building in South Sudan.