Of obscenity, Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart wrote in Jacobellis v. Ohio, “I shall not today attempt further to define the kinds of material I understand to be embraced within that shorthand description; and perhaps I could never succeed in intelligibly doing so. But I know it when I see it…”
Mr. Stewart clearly had better eyesight than Federal Communications Commission Chairman Michael Powell.
2004 proved a landmark year for censorship and hypocrisy, with Janet Jackson’s Super Bowl peep show setting off a chain of events that would culminate in network affiliates preempting a Steven Spielberg film and the King of All Media looking to the stars — literally. Through it all, Mr. Powell has presided over the FCC with the sort of religious incompetence not seen since Wisconsin’s favorite son stood in Wheeling, W.Va. and announced that he had “a list” in the grand tradition of HUAC Chairman Martin Dies.
There can be little question that Ms. Jackson’s famous “wardrobe malfunction,” aided by the groping paws of Justin Timberlake, transformed a family-friendly sporting spectacle into the most watched burlesque show of all time. And the FCC was right to subject those involved to the 17th-century Salem treatment. But by the time Mr. Powell was asking Howard Stern to sink or swim, things had clearly gone too far.
While the NFL championship has a proud history of being an event where people of all ages can gather around the tube and be subjected to nothing more bothersome than the sight of grown men crying, Mr. Stern has never given off the illusion that his morning blab fest is appropriate for Bible Belt bingo parlors. Ever since his now-ironic rise to stardom as a Washington, D.C. deejay, Mr. Stern has been almost singularly responsible for putting the “shock” in front of “jock.” His show has shown that for millions of Americans, tawdriness makes for a fine accompaniment to coffee on the run, and his famed hypothesis that “lesbians equal ratings” has proven as reliable as a Stephen Hawking theory.
To be sure, there have always been rules governing Mr. Stern’s broadcast. Various four-letter words have never been allowed, and their occasional usage has consistently drawn fines accordingly. But beyond such, the shock jock’s most perverse material has only truly differed from that presented in an eighth grade sexual education class in its smooth presentation and the absence of a perspiring gym teacher.
And yet, after Mr. Powell pulled a “sorry Ms. Jackson, I am for real,” he seemed to suddenly stumble upon Mr. Stern’s radio show — as though he had never noticed it before — and by year’s end, instigated so much federal and corporate pressure via the use and continued threat of fines that the King of All Media was forced to sign a satellite radio contract as a means of escaping the long hand of Uncle Sam.
Worse yet, Mr. Stern appears to have been targeted not because of the content of his program per se, but rather because of the light-hearted and comical nature with which it is presented. This is best evidenced by the same FCC’s refusal to pursue Oprah Winfrey, who in 2004 shared with viewers nationwide that a “tossed salad” can have more to do with an oral twist on anal sex than lettuce and kale.
Not only does Ms. Winfrey masquerade her daily program as a family-friendly show, but it airs as children nationwide enjoy milk and cookies in front of the television. This stands in stark contrast to Mr. Stern’s program, which can be heard while the kids are in third period history.
The message is clear: if a dignified woman like Ms. Winfrey wants to host a forum on kissing ass — literally — she is in the clear, but if Mr. Stern wants to chat about implants, he should be prepared to render unto Big Brother.
The hypocrisy is as chilling as the caution waves sent through the broadcast industry. Increasingly so, programs tagged “live” are really being transmitted on a delay so that Mr. Powell and company can avoid subjecting themselves to the language already found in the graffiti coating of Washington, D.C., the same city from which Mr. Stern caught his broadcasting break and FCC governs.
Then again, it was Simon and Garfunkel who noted in “The Sound of Silence,” “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls.”
That song came out the same year as the Supreme Court’s ruling in Jacobellis v. Ohio.
Mac VerStandig ([email protected]) is a junior majoring in rhetoric.
