America’s Violence Fetish
Every other hip-hop song on the radio features one of our beloved thug-poets declaring his intention to “cap” his victims with a “nine,” among other convenient weaponry.
Every Sunday (our day of rest and worship) three of our beloved television networks broadcast nearly 12 hours of professional football, in which armored warriors have collisions that would decapitate the average office worker.
But what calamity might follow should our children (not to mention the rest of the populace) glimpse a bare breast, a penis, or, heaven forbid, two consenting adults making love?!
Those who strive to keep sexual content (or even non-sexual nudity) out of the public eye would do a far greater service to our mangled society by focusing their prohibitive efforts on images of violence. The same celebrities who campaign for various noble causes — save the circus animals, for instance — would be more aptly applying their considerable clout if they refused to be seen on billboards casually fondling an automatic weapon. And the “family values” politicians and preachers who decry America’s transformation into Gomorrah would more effectively slow (or reverse) that trend by encouraging their constituents to stop worrying about lesbian women who want to live and love together in a state of marital bliss and start worrying about how much assault and bloodshed we unabashedly accept as part of our culture.
“Make love, not war” is an easily parodied rallying cry of the 1960s, a slogan that was heard frequently in my childhood household. I think, though, that the Hippies were onto something. Our compulsion to fornicate isn’t what’s destroying the fabric of American society, it’s our compulsion to annihilate.