WEEKLY COLUMN:
JDM vs the WORLD

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FINE PRINT

You know an issue is hot when the fact that it’s an issue becomes an issue all its own.

No recent example better exemplifies this phenomenon than the celebrity backlash which preceded the Iraq war. As stars of all stripes took it upon themselves to mourn the election—or “election”—of George W. Bush in the months before battle, they soon found themselves defending not only their anti-war stances but also their rights, as entertainers, to have and defend stances on anything at all. Such was the case with Susan Sarandon, who insisted she just had “questions,” and also Fred Durst, who, in hoping for “agreeance” against the war, found out the hard way how Bush’s sporadic tongue flubs aren’t a mark of the man.

But in terms of negative public fervor, no instance of celebrity aggression exceeded that of the Dixie Chicks.

Recall: At a London show in March, lead singer Natalie Maines told the crowd, “Just so you know, we’re ashamed the president of the United States is from Texas.” To which the folks back home replied, “We’re ashamed the Dixie Chicks are from America,” as they proceeded to steamroll copies of Wide Open Spaces en masse. It wasn’t long, of course, before talk of book burnings and McCarthyism came into play.

Was Maines’ remark worth the buzz it received? Truth be told, no. What she said was the stuff of lightweights, really—a cheap pop, a no-brainer. Like saying, “You guys in London really know how to rock!” But that was part of the problem. Sure, what she said came across as simple-minded, but Americans didn’t fault her for having an opinion, however loosely formed. It was the utter convenience with which she expressed said opinion—in front of a rabidly anti-Bush foreign crowd—that made so many people mad.

The Dixie Chicks shouldn’t’ve been surprised to find themselves sniffling on the set of Primetime Thursday a few weeks after that London show. Like or it not, many Americans were offended by Maines’ comment—not by the content but the context, for it spoke of a much larger issue. Here we were in the post-9/11 era, watching the world unite against a war that 7 in 10 of us supported, and who was representing us abroad? Well, let’s put it this way: The other 3 in 10. The beautiful people. American royalty. For every George Bush, Condi Rice, and Colin Powell, there was a Martin Sheen, a Sheryl Crow, and a George Clooney—people who all too often turned gentle opposition into opportunistic screeds.

Americans didn’t want celebrity spokesmen, though. They wanted a fair shake from the largely anti-war world.

And so, they—and their steamrollers—responded in kind.

Now let’s fast-forward to July 8th, to a Senate Commerce Committee hearing on media ownership and radio consolidation. That’s when Sen. John McCain noted that the nation’s second largest radio company, Cumulus Media, was in the wrong for pulling the Chicks from its country music stations for one month following the aforementioned mess. The good senator called the ban an “erosion of the First Amendment,” and his colleague, Sen. Barbara Boxer, added that it sent “a chilling message to people that they ought to shut up.”

The band’s manager, Simon Renshaw, agreed. In his words: “Even the perception of a radio network using power in this way clearly demonstrated the potential danger of a system of unchecked consolidation that ultimately undermines artistic freedom, cultural enlightenment and political discourse.”

I suppose that depends on your definitions of cultural enlightenment and political discourse.

But while we’re on the subject of definitions, I’ve got to wonder where McCain came up with his on free speech.

Of Maines & Co., McCain says, “To restrain their trade because they exercised their right to free speech to me is remarkable.” But what’s so remarkable about it? Celebrities have the right to speak their minds, all right, but they also have the right to remain silent, and anything they say can and will be used against them in a court of public opinion. That’s not McCarthyism. That’s life. If you think the stars of hit sitcoms are alone in this standard, have a word with Trent Lott.

In fact, we all have to watch what we say—at work, at home, with friends, wherever. Words are known to have consequences. You can’t yell fire in a crowded theater, and you can’t march through life saying what’s on your mind without being challenged now and then. That’s just the way it goes. Americans reserve the right to reject their celebrities—this, too, is free speech, of the checks-and-balances kind.

But surely McCain doesn’t think the First Amendment guarantees the playing of one’s music, does he? If so, I’d like to see this notion brought before the thousands of musicians who’ve long since abandoned their dreams of stardom, incapable of aligning themselves with major record labels or writing hit songs. I’d imagine there are quite a few people out there who’d be happy to learn it’s one’s right to have one’s tunes heard.

But what, then, do we do about Cumulus Media CEO Lewis Dickey? If the Dixie Chicks have a right to ply their trade, doesn’t this guy have the right to protect his company’s bottom line?

If, as Dickey suggests, “there was a groundswell of negative reaction by our listeners against the band,” then Cumulus didn’t need to ban the Dixie Chicks, anyway. That’s a decision that the public made for them—a decision that would’ve been made with or without Simon Renshaw’s so-called “system of unchecked consolidation.” It’s all part of a neat little thing we call free enterprise—the definition of which we ought not change just because it makes three ladies from Texas sad.

Of course, McCain’s not the first to invoke the First Amendment on loudmouthed celebrities’ behalf lately. Earlier this year, the Screen Actors Guild issued a statement condemning would-be McCarthyites (i.e., war supporters) for trying to silence dissenting opinions. “Even a hint of the blacklist must never again be tolerated in this nation,” the statement said—and it was an odd choice of words, really, since they were the only ones dropping such hints. This is what the Weekly Standard‘s Hugh Hewitt called “blacklist envy,” and I can’t think of a more accurate description, except maybe “reverse McCarthyism.”

What I mean is, by crying wolf and making claims of McCarthy-like censorship, celebrities acted as if we, the people, had no right to hold them accountable for the things they said. Were the government—through McCain and Boxer, perhaps—to step in and protect the Dixie Chicks’ alleged right to airplay, it would be the very kind of free speech violation the First Amendment was meant to deter. That is, it would prevent everyday Americans from speaking the one language they and the rich and powerful share: Money.

And this brings me back to the point I made up top: In the months leading up to this war, actors and actresses often found themselves defending not only their opinions but their right to have and share them. Whereas anyone who questioned this right would’ve been silenced by substantiated reasoning, celebrities, by and large, answered with no such thing. This was a trap and they fell for it. Referencing the First Amendment may have been their only way out, but there was a catch: The fact that they appeared on TV to debate the war was proof their rights were intact.

The question is, then, if the First Amendment is good for entertainers, why isn’t it good for the masses? When actors and rock stars get up on their soapboxes, people hear them—this goes for the Hollywood Left, and even the much smaller Hollywood Right. Though the Internet’s changed things a bit, most free speech is still found around office water coolers, and many Americans will never have the chance to discuss politics with Oprah Winfrey and Larry King. We all have wallets, though, as well as the freewill to use them. Celebrities don’t have to like it, but they do have to deal with it if they want to remain celebrities.

McCain and the SAG are entitled to feel bad for the Dixie Chicks, Sean Penn, or whoever else is complaining that their war thoughts have hurt their careers. But to suggest that celebrities somehow deserve America’s hard-earned money—on the individual and corporate levels, both—is irrational and just plain absurd.

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