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anti-press ezine 2001 02 19
ANTI-PRESS EZINE #20
"We're Positive About The Negative"
A February E-dition
(C) Copyright 2001 Anti-Press All Rights Reserved
THIS E-DITION'S LINE-UP:
I - CUTE BABIES: TROGAN HORSIES FOR EVIL
II - NATIONAL PUBLIC RADIO-- SHADDUP!
III - TOO MUCH FLASH, NOT ENOUGH SUBSTANCE
IV - SO WHAT IF...?
=============================================================
CUTE BABIES: TROGAN HORSIES FOR EVIL
By Anti-Press
This ezine is published in plain text. Maybe we should change the
format to HTML or whatever and get some fancy graphics. Our first
priority: photos of cute babies. With cute babies you can get away with
almost anything.
Case in point: a teevee ad for ADM-- "Supermarket to the World"-- seen
recently on the NBC talking-heads program, MEET THE PRESS. (Or BEAT THE
PRESS, considering the way most politicians dodge direct questions.)
ADM has been a sponsor of MEET THE PRESS for years but in the past they
ran these mysterious ads that made them look good without telling you
exactly what they did.
But now they're revealing more about their operations, thanks to a slick
ad featuring former NBC-teevee newsman, David Brinkley, a respected
journalist-- or at least in our eyes he _was_ a respected journalist.
The ad opens in an oak-paneled den in some rich guy's mansion; a lit
fireplace in the background cozily warms the room. It's a scene out of
a history book, President Franklyn D. Roosevelt and one of his fireside
chats. Propped up in a highback chair like an elderly Muppet, Brinkley
tries to look natural while talking to you, the viewer. He faithfully
reads the script, his rheumy beady-eyes scanning the cuecard. It's all
a set-up, right down to the last little detail.
In a concerned tone Brinkley asks: "Are we doing all we can to feed
everybody?" World hunger. Yes, we're concerned about that. So
Brinkley talks about the hordes of hungry people and how farmers are
doing their part to feed them. One American farmer, he states, produces
food for 130 other people, 30 of those in other countries. As he
speaks, gaining your confidence, images of babies parade on the screen,
various colors and races. Each baby is smiling, is soooo cute.
Brinkley explains that everyone should be well-fed, have the opportunity
to eat. (Well, duh.) Here's where ADM, the Archer Daniel Mafia --
sorry, we mean the Archer Daniel Midland corporation -- comes in.
They're doing their best to (supposedly) end starvation around the earth
by "expanding its global network of transportation and processing
operations...putting the people who make the food in touch with those
who need it." One of the last shots is a smiling farmer, standing in
front of a cornfield, holding a cute baby in his arms.
ADM? Hey, aren't those the guys who got nailed by the feds a couple of
times for price-fixing? We all know how price-fixing benefits hungry
people in poor third world countries, don't we?
If you want ADM's side of the story, you can check out their Web site.
When you go to www.admworld.com you'll see a circular photo of the
planet Earth as viewed from outer space. This image grows smaller,
receding into the background, and the words ADMWORLD.COM appear. The
earth recedes to the point where it becomes the dot in ADMWORLD.COM.
What does this bit of animation sybmolize? ADM = the world, their
future goal?
But maybe ADM has learned its lesson after being nailed twice for
price-fixing. Maybe they have been transformed into humanitarians
trying to end hunger for all. But there's all sorts of companies out
there competing for world domination-- oops, we mean world markets.
Ergo, let's speculate: how could a worldwide agribusiness mafia could
come into power? Since no one has a copyright/patent/trademark on cute
babies, those images will still be used to sucker in the masses in ads
across the media. So what else would this imaginary evil corporation do
to rule the world?
Key words: control and profit. Control the means of production-- food
production. Then reap all the profit. People can live without their
SUVs, swimming pools, designer jeans, etc. but they can't survive
without food. Too many times in the past we've seen how most monopolies
turn out to be evil, especially in the days of the company town where
the exploited laborer worked hard, then had to pay back all of his
earnings to the company for living space and food. Pure profit, from
the company mine to the company store.
Besides getting its customers dependent on its services, such an evil
corporation would have to eliminate competition through buy outs and
mergers. Then it wouldn't have to worry about conspiring with any
competitors to fix prices. It could set any price it wants.
What about government control, anti-trust laws? Political leaders need
cash to run for office. Throw enough money their way under the table
and they'll pretend that something will done about the problem, but
first they have to set up the appropriate committee, go through the
motions of a thorough investigation, and then hold some hearings. Of
course, that action will take some time -- one year, three years, a
decade... As for anti-trust laws -- how dare you? This benevolent
organization is trying to save all the starving babies. Total control
is the only way it can alleviate hunger.
What will happen if food production is controlled by one global entity?
Do you think that global entity, driven by profits, is going to worry
about starving kids in Outer Mongolia when there's no monetary gain in
it? Sure, a multinational corporation will work hard to expand its
production centers and distribution network _if_ there's $ to be made.
Such a corporation ain't charity, despite the image they try to project
with a once-reputable personality who's sold out, who's shilling for the
filthy lucre.
So sit there, teevee veggie, and let the media manipulation win you
over. Then when you hear about that company-with-cute-babies getting
nailed by the feds, bad press about screwing over poor people by
price-fixing and whatever, don't be shocked. Especially if many
potentially-cute babies end up starving to death.
And don't be shocked when Global Omnifood Dominion makes you pay $12 for
a 6 ounce bag of potato chips.
NATIONAL PUBLIC RADIO-- SHADDUP!
By Anti-Press
National public radio is supposed to promote diversity, offering
programming not disseminated by commercial broadcasters.
So here in NENYland-- the northeastern corner of New York State-- we
should have treble the diversity because three different public radio
entities overlap the region. 88.3 on the FM dial is a regional network
originating in Canton, NY, called North Country Public Radio. 91.9 FM
is part of a network based in Albany, NY. And 107.9 comes across Lake
Champlain, part of Vermont Public Radio.
So with each regional network providing a breath of fresh air three
times over for listeners, we could understand why National Public Radio
(NPR) is against micro-broadcasters. Micro-broadcasting was created to
democraticize the radio spectrum even more, letting community groups,
activists, or churches have very tiny slivers of the FM pie. Some
licenses have been issued to low-power FM stations but not as many as
first envisioned because NPR contends there will be inteference created
by these new stations, signals conflicting with its affiliate stations.
Anyway, doesn't pubic radio provide an outlet for local voices ignored
by mainstream media?
Well, it's late at night and there should be some interesting
programming on the public radio outlets here in NENYland. Maybe they'll
have something you might get on the public access channel on cable
teevee -- minus the visuals, of course. The Voice of Militant Lesbian
America or Jews for Hitler. Let's check; each station is digitally
programmed in our radio's memory.
88.3-- Classical music.
91.9-- Classical music.
107.9-- Classical music.
We enjoy classical music but why are three "independent"
government-funded radio stations playing the SAME program at the SAME
time, "Music Through the Night"?
And if you check in the late afternoon, these stations can be
broadcasting the same exact news program.
Yes, NPR, keep those micro-broadcasters off the air because they MIGHT
intefere with your duplicated -- no, triplicated -- programming.
NPR-- shut your piehole.
TOO MUCH FLASH, NOT ENOUGH SUBSTANCE
By Anti-Press
Drop acid. Start tripping. Get in your car and whiz by a series of
Burma Shave signs.
ZIP!
ZAP!
ZOWIE!
Each sign displays a line from a jingle promoting Burma Shave brushless
shaving cream, but instead of words, pretty colors are seen-- wheeee!
It's not the words, it's the experience, man.
To borrow from Jimi Hendrix: Are you "experienced"? Have you seen the
local news on Plattsburgh's teevee station? They're trying to be flashy
with all sorts of whizbang graphics, but instead they're just trippy.
TONIGHT
THE
TOP
CRIME
STORY--
Bang, bang, bang, each word flashing across the screen. Like this is
supposed to be CNN or something? Well, CNN can ratchet up the pace, do
the bang-bang stuff, but they're a lot more professional about it. On
the other hand the local teevee station can't keep up with the fast
pace; they're always making flubs. Newsreader introduces a story and
nothing happens, no video. Or the video runs but without sound. Or the
video does run but it's the wrong story. Or the deck just eats the
video-- scrunch!
Instead of fancy graphics, spend some money on good equipment and pay
your technical staffers more money!
This is all part of the continuing bastardization of the news. Years
ago somebody brainstormed "happy news": "Hey, let's everybody on the
news team talk like they're good buddies, one big happy family. We'll
have the anchor joke with the weatherman about the snowfall or he can
ask the sports reporter about who's going to win the big game."
Now, across America, most local teevee stations are happy news. It's
got to the point where certain stereotypes show up in every market, like
the goofy weatherman. Next time when you're visting another city, check
out the local news crew. Just like the team back home, huh?
Personality clones.
So between the happy news chatter and the flashing graphics, plus the
plethora of those fugging ads, maybe you'll actually get some NEWS-- the
reason why you tuned in, remember?
SO WHAT IF...?
By Anti-Press
1 PM.
01/20/01.
Saturday.
Downtown Plattsburgh, New York.
Colder than brass underwear.
Or to translate from that NENYland saying: six degrees or less
Fahrenheit.
Good reason for the low turn-out. Only ten protesters have showed up at
the Federal Building to dis the presidential inauguration of George W.
Bush. Two true believers hold a white bedsheet banner, its message
explaining the connection between mega-$ and "democracy" in the United
States.
Before the protest, in the warm environs of the Kubbyhole coffeehouse,
one young activist stated that he wasn't looking for a fight but would
battle if forced into it. Before engaging in physical confrontation, he
would pause to remove his body piercings; he didn't want any of them
ripped out.
Once outside there's not enough heat generated by the protest to think
of fighting. And the cops are no where in sight; probably ensconced in
a toasty patrol car on the other side of town, sipping steaming cups of
Dunkin' Donuts brew.
Sitting on the side steps to the Federal Building, a hirsute hippie-type
bangs on his acoustic guitar, ad-libbing anti-Republican lyrics. In the
middle of his screeching song he exclaims: "It's too f-ing cold out here
to play."
That's why the Ruskies exiled their political dissidents to Siberian
prison camps.
Only one car stops to check out the banner.
Only one representative of mainstream media shows up, a reporter from
the local (news)Paper. She's frustrated in her attempt to write down
quotes; her pen refuses to write, its ink contracting. She retreats
inside to a nearby eatery to conduct her interviews.
"Is that woman from the local newspaper?" inquires one protester.
*Of course,* we quip. *What were you expecting-- The Village Voice to
show up?*
In unison the protesters stare at us. Gotta remember that we're in meat
space, not cyberspace. No computer, no screen name, to separate us from
the masses. To reply to the stare, we smile to say: Just a joke...
There's not much traffic on this side street. Everybody who could start
their cars today are most likely up at the mall. Or just staying at
home because they're broke, having overspent on the holidays.
To gain more visibility for their cause-- and also to jump-start their
circulatory systems-- the protesters carry their banner over to the park
on main street. The activists line up on the sidewalk, talking, joking,
smiling, resisting the numbing suck of the Arctic air. In the
background stands a memorial to veterans who died protecting American
values, especially the freedom of speech. The stars-and-stripes limply
drape around a flagpole.
Two protesters hold the banner, one of them barehanded, his fingers
red-tinged. We let him borrow our gloves, doing our small bit, more so
to prevent frostbite than to openly support the protest. Us, we're
there to observe, get the story. As for protests, we prefer to conduct
them in front of a warm computer.
The protesters hang tough. Maybe three more cars go by. Our brain is
slowing down so we quickly walk back to the Kubbyhole to review our
mental notes, the only ones we will take. Blood takes longer than ink
to transform into icy sludge.
After a while some of the protesters show up at the coffeehouse. They
have given up, victims of cold indifference. They debate what to do
with their banner. A stranger overhears their conversation and it turns
out he's sympathetic to their cause. He gladly donates some cord lying
around in his car's trunk. After some measuring and cutting into four
lengths, the protesters are ready. They affix their banner to a fence
fronting an empty lot down the street.
The winter sun sets on another short day. Temps drop even more.
Tonight we notice that the protest banner remains on the fence, not
worthy to be ripped down by the cops or any rabid conservatives. That
forsaken banner reminds us of a popular wall poster from the 1960s,
during the height of that era's social upheaval. The poster stated: SO
WHAT IF THEY GAVE A WAR AND NOBODY CAME?
Today they gave a protest in Plattsburgh.
_Postscript:_
2 PM.
01/21/01.
Kubbyhole coffeehouse.
Sitting there, talking with a friend, when a woman walks up.
"Were you with that protest yesterday?" she asks.
We reply: *No, we were just hanging around, seeing what was going on.*
"Well, they left that banner on the fence near my shop and I would like
to take it down. It's affecting my business."
We think: ?
"I was wondering if it was OK to take it down; people think that my
business put it up there."
Asking _us_ for permission? We were mainly observing yesterday, not
participating.
What's next? A wild link between Anti-Press and a famous pop singer?
The paparazzi photograph us standing within six feet of Brittany Spears
who's eight months pregnant. Ergo, we're the father of her child,
right?
"I know there's free speech and all but it is affecting my business..."
*Well, if we had your business and that banner was causing problems, we
would take it down.*
So getting "official permission" from us, the woman left, happy that she
could now remove the troublesome banner without any guilt.
Fine by us. Too bad none of the protesters were around to deal with the
aftermath of their handiwork. The demonstration was really their gig.
Man, maybe we shouldn't hang around those long-haired activist
hippie-types. People will think we got fleas. Or think we gave Brittany
Spears fleas.
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