Molly I. and Art B. had wonderful ways with words
Wayne Dawkins/Commentary
Midwinter was memorable because of political gaffes, Iraq war punditry, and the loss of two beloved wordsmiths.
First
the gaffe: U.S. Sen. Joe Biden, D-Del., drew fire from critics for his odd
word choices to describe rising political star Barack Obama. “I mean, you
got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and
clean and a nice-looking guy,” said Biden according to a CNN account.
The senator’s words minimized the U.S. presidential runs of Jesse Jackson in 1984 and ’88, and Al Sharpton’s 2004 campaign. And what about Shirley Chisholm in 1972?
Biden claimed that his description of U.S. Sen. Obama, D-Ill., came out wrong because he was using his mother’s unique phrasing. Nevertheless, the senator wounded himself. Although Biden has a reputation as a motor mouth according to some Washington insiders, I hope he doesn’t shut up and become one of many calculating political regulars who have little worthwhile to say when they do open their mouths.
Five years ago in Dover, Del. Biden dropped by to talk to two dozen Trotter Group columnists, and he warned that it would be disastrous to meddle with Shiite, Sunni and Kurdish factions in Iraq. This was nearly two years before the U.S. invasion and many more years after the quagmire the United States is stuck in.
Conditions have gotten so bad that early last month, conservative New York Times columnist David Brooks on two broadcast shows the same Friday, pushed the idea that Iraq must now be partitioned into Shiite and Sunni territories because military forces [i.e. United States] can’t keep the factions together.
We need more leaders speaking candidly and forcefully about public policy, even if they have to make fools of themselves occasionally.
Regarding
wordsmithing and persuasion, we lost a powerful voice in syndicated
columnist Molly Ivins, 62, who died Jan. 31. She was a master of the putdown
of powerful and pompous people. President George W. Bush, who went to a
crosstown high school, was the “Shrub” and “play Texan.” Ivins labeled
current Texas Gov. Rick Perry as “Good hair.” Years ago she wrote that a
Texas congressman was so dumb “he needed to be watered twice a day.” The
last putdown inspired her editors at the Dallas Times-Herald to erect a
billboard that said “Molly Ivins can’t say that, can she?”
Ivins, a 1967 Columbia J-school alumna, didn’t torch people for kicks. She was from that fading faction of newsies who believe they have a responsibility to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted. In this age of corporate, Wall Street-driven media, that news value that advocates for the poor and voiceless is fading.
With Ivins’ death after a long battle with breast cancer, another voice for the voiceless went silent. Who now will step in and raise their voice for justice and equity?
We lost another wordsmith, Art Buchwald, 81, in late January. Compared to Ivins, Buchwald’s humor appeared gentle, yet he had the satirist’s deft sting. When politicians and rich folk behaved badly, ridicule was his foil.
Buchwald
was the first columnist I read closely in order to appreciate a journalist’s
voice, rhythm and comedic timing. I was in high school then, and the
Watergate scandal was ripening. The New York Times accounts I read signaled
something was terribly wrong, but truthfully, I did not comprehend what.
When I read the New York Post [this era was pre-Murdoch] Buchwald made Watergate plain in his op-ed column, 700 words at a time.
In reading Buchwald appreciations, I was awed by his fearlessness and productivity. Buchwald ended three-times weekly kidney dialysis despite counsel that he needed it in order to live.
Given only weeks to live after unplugging, Buchwald lived an additional year and completed a memoir that mocked his imminent death.
I was also inspired by Buchwald’s New York chutzpah: He enrolled at USC on the G.I. bill but neglected to tell officials that he did not graduate from high school. Buchwald was forced out, yet he returned many years later to accept an honorary degree.
An appropriate ending from a funny man who always had a way with words.
[Ivins photo, Berkeley.edu;
Buchwald photo, Journalism.memory.edu
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