Being a media junkie often sucks. Far from prurient, sensationalism-seeking, soulless, pale geeks shoveling celebrity joys and miseries into their slack jawed maw, many people I know who might be accused of this moniker are actually deeply empathic—to say nothing of deeply political. They feel a responsibility to know what is going on in the wider world from day to day; for some, it’s simply a commitment to keep watch on what our tax dollars do to other peoples; for some, it’s a passionate desire to stay on top of the latest versions of oppression (think NSA wiretapping); for some, yes, it’s an unhealthy sort of addiction to tragedy and injustice that produces less catharsis and more stagnation. I’d like to think of myself as the prior—a privileged white American male who feels some responsibility to know day in and day out what the vast majority of people in America and the wider world are experiencing. Call it peeling an eye for where and how to be an ally. And the argument can be made, too, that simply being aware of what’s going as a member of privileged class that doesn’t “need” to expose himself to such quotidian sorrows as the death count on Chicago’s south and west sides (500+ YTD), is being an ally. If only because it gives you something to verbally punch the idiot at the hardware store with if he gets going on sanctity of the 2nd amendment. Especially in this era of jacked-up, super-fueled right wing smack talk and draconian legislatures (hi, NC!), to many of us “junkies,” I think, it feels important to stay tuned in the same way it’s important to stay warm before boxing match.
But there is also far too often a gap between empathic pain/outrage and any reasonable possibility of action. In other words, far too much of what I consume about the suffering world is not properly digested. I try to find ways to speak out or take action or, at the bare minimum, incorporate what I’m learning into my worldview so I might sometime serve someone with a connection or understanding that they don’t expect. And sometimes I write.
So I’m taking the chance today to write in a celebratory vein. In the last week, the United States crowned its first ethnic Miss America. Nina Davuluri wore the tiara at the end of the day. And in the last week the United States saw its first transgender person chosen as homecoming queen. Cassidy Lynn Campbell wore the tiara at the end of the day.
The fact that both Davuluri and Campbell immediately were assaulted with hateful backlash is not surprising, nor does it mean very much. I’m saddened by the focus of much of the media on tweets toward Davuluri that suggest she is a terrorist infiltrator, or commentary direct at Campbell that she is just a boy playing dress up. But then again, maybe focusing on the tone and content of that backlash is wise. Maybe by casting the depth of that ignorance into the limelight along with the beautiful young women wearing those tiaras, the juxtaposition will move someone, somewhere in middle America who’s just not sure how they feel yet about such radical change.
But radical change it is. Gay marriage is sweeping the nation, marijuana prohibition is finally eroding, gun control is flaring as a debate at least, some healthcare reform is coming despite the blood surging through Boehner, and in terms of foreign policy, at least it is now, more than ever, also under the flashbulbs. It must be a horrible time to be a xenophobic, homophobic, militant fundamentalist. We ought not be surprised if we hear many explosions of ire from that quarter as a result. But we ought to listen to just how dumb and tired they sound and know that they’re loud because they’re losing.
Even at corporate beauty pageants and football games.
