In recent years, the cry for “nonpartisan” news has reached a fever pitch.
Yet to careful observers of media, there is little to admire in nonpartisan journalism, especially in the face of people, groups, and politicians who argue fair and balanced news tells “both sides” impartially to advance positions that are both immoral and dehumanizing.
Those who would doubt this analysis should benefit from spending three hours at the Kennedy Center watching the current production of “To Kill A Mockingbird.” This refashioning of Harper Lee’s timeless tale breathes life into the truths Lee explored about racism, and more importantly, what happens when we turn our backs on humanity in the name of evenhandedness.
Set in 1930s Maycomb, Alabama, the play follows the trajectory of Lee’s storyline, but in a reordered fashioned. The tinkering with the story’s order draws attendees in and commands their attention. The focus required soon rewards viewers with a more nuanced exploration of the play’s protagonist – Atticus Finch.
This is a man we believe we know. A ne plus ultra of integrity and morality in an unjust world, ready to defend what is right using the system that, ideally, treats all people the same. That veil falls quickly, and we quickly learn we don’t know Atticus Finch at all. As Jed Gottlieb’s review of the play in the Boston Herald says of Finch:
“[D]evotees of Lee’s Pulitzer Prize-winning 1960 novel will find less innocence and certainty here. Fans of the 1962 Academy Award-winning movie will discover this Atticus lacking Gregory Peck’s Lincolnesque quality.”
“I believe in being respectful,” Finch says to her.
And with eyes that could cut the glass protecting the stage lights, Cal responds without flinching, “No matter who you’re disrespecting by doing it.”
Atticus in this production is a Don Quixote trapped in a Machiavellian world.
Throughout the play, Finch – played masterfully by Thomas – is shown teaching his children to respect all people, to “step inside and crawl around in their skin,” regardless of how heinous they may seem. Sometimes, that advice is both admirable and redeemable. This was the case with Link Deas, who is portrayed as morally troubled but proves to be the most clear-eyed white man in the town of Maycomb. Dill’s taking a sip from Deas’ brown paper bag – the act which reveals Deas’ true character – proves one of the lighter moments in the play, which is sprinkled with jovial witticisms.
But in most other cases, Finch’s advice is simply misguided. There is nothing redeeming about the ignorant father of Mayella Ewell, Bob, who rapes his daughter and makes crude references to oral sex to Finch about Scout. There is nothing likeable or kind about the crusty Mrs. Henry Dubois who lives just down from the Finches, and who is forever criticizing Scout.
Finch feels sorry for Mayella, understands the tragedies of Bob Ewell and where they’ve led him, and lectures Scout on the actions of Klansmen and those who follow mobs.
“Mob’s a place where people go to take a break from their conscience,” Finch tells Scout. “A mob acts out of emotion, absent facts, absent contemplation, mostly absent responsibility. What they get in return is anonymity. Conscience can be exhausting.”
Only Atticus’ son Jem seems to see through this character flaw – a naïve belief that every human is inherently good – throughout the play. But there is a quieter, more powerful observer who will speak the truth plain: Calpurnia, Finch’s housekeeper, or in the ugly racist language of the day, the family’s “domestic.”
Cal watches quietly throughout most of the play as Finch’s nonpartisan, treat-everyone-as-equal approach causes an unending array of pains. Far from defusing hatred, it ignites the very dehumanization and racism and violence it pretends to address.
Deep in the second act, following Tom Robinson’s death, Cal can take no more. She challenges Finch directly about how he can continue to treat the white people of Maycomb with respect.
“I believe in being respectful,” Finch says to her.
And with eyes that could cut the glass protecting the stage lights, Cal responds without flinching, “No matter who you’re disrespecting by doing it.”
This.
This reality.
This is why the Advance will not fall into the pit of nonpartisan news. For nonpartisan news merely masks and perpetuates what needs to be exposed. Nonpartisan news doesn’t just turn its back to those organizations and people in society who would use our democracy to harm others and strip rights from those they might disagree; nonpartisan news empowers those forces.
If there is any doubt, consider the corruption and rot that is on the verge of turning Spotsylvania County into a modern-day Maycomb.
To treat the lies of school board leaders and the superintendent as true in the face of obvious evidence to the contrary; to hold as morally equal those people who espouse ideas that would inflict devastating consequences on the most vulnerable members of our society. This is not journalism.
This is cowardice. Cowardice that will kill a mockingbird.
Journalism – the type that walks in the steps of Ben Franklin and Bob Woodward, of Upton Sinclair and Ida B. Wells – sits at the core of the Advance.
This is cowardice. Cowardice that will kill a mockingbird.
We are multipartisan because a commitment to uncovering and exposing those who would abuse power, abuse the weak, and abuse our system of government for their own ends is not a partisan issue. And there are people aplenty across the political spectrum who understand this.
As Scout reminds us in the play’s final words, in the face of wrong overtaking right, there is no room for those afraid of the fight.
“All rise.”
