Photo by John Zumpano
Russell Rowland
How incredibly sharp have become the edges of the two-sided sword we call freedom of speech. Like most of the world, I received the news of what happened at the offices of Charlie Hebdo with a sense of extreme shock and sadness. But this was different. Because it was also coupled with something that I have not fallen prey to much when it comes to world events. I felt a profound sense of fear.
I recently read a book called “The Copper Chorus,” by Dennis Swibold, about the history of the newspaper business in Montana. The basic storyline of this history is that the copper industry in Montana secretly held control of almost every major newspaper in Montana until 1959. It’s not a theory. They eventually admitted it. And it was a chilling account of the lengths that corporate puppeteers would go to in order to alter the news for their own advantage.
What resonated about the story was how the early days of the newspaper business resembled today’s social media. In the late 19th and early 20th century, there were hundreds of newspapers in Montana. And it was standard procedure for the editors of these papers to write scathing commentaries on the other papers around the state. These guys, and of course they were all guys, made mudslinging an art form, and although much of it was done in the spirit of competition and an attempt to outdo each other with their literary flair, it was also often delivered with a genuine feeling of anger toward the other person’s beliefs. These were the Rush Limbaughs and Bill Mahers of their day.
When the Copper Kings got involved, and the papers became another tool to accomplish their personal agendas, things went from contentious to nasty. The stakes became higher, and more personal, and all bets were off on what these men would say about each other. But the whole dynamic was taken even one step further in those instances where all the major newspapers shared a common enemy. So for example, when World War I started, and the Germans suddenly became the worst people in the world, all of the newspapers fell in line, publishing the most offensive articles and cartoons imaginable. Germans were dehumanized and generalized. They were all the same.
At the height of this assault, they managed to shut down every German newspaper in Montana, and there were several, had all German books banned from the schools, and put so much pressure on the citizens of Montana to stop speaking German that one of the largest Hutterite colonies in the state packed their belongings and moved to Canada. In Livingston, a German ranch family was fast asleep one night when their house suddenly exploded in a huge fireball. The husband, a man named Urlach, woke up to find his wife dead next to him, and he was so overcome with grief that he slit his throat. The crime was never solved.
Of course, people loved stories like this. They sold papers. But behind that, in the shady corners, war was always good for the business of mining.
And how many times has this story echoed throughout our history? Once the war was over, the hatred toward Germans became indifference again, but there was always someone. In World War II it was the Japanese, and eventually the Germans again. Then came the Cold War and the Russians. The communists. The feeling of hatred toward Russians was palpable when I was a kid, and now the mention of Russia is comparable to talking about someone from Indiana. It doesn’t matter.
So what is it that causes us to need someone to look at as an enemy? Why this overwhelming hunger to find one particular group of people and demonize the whole lot of them? And why are we surprised when we do that, and it causes them to respond? I can’t help but wonder whether some of this comes from the very roots of our history as Americans. It’s not even disputed any longer that we essentially stole this country from the people who lived here before us. And part of what enabled us to justify this behavior was to demonize these people to the point that we actually made every conceivable effort to kill them off. To the dismay of many who were trying to justify that action, they never went away.
And now? Well, we have never really made peace with this part of our history. And perhaps that’s why we’re constantly looking outward, trying to find the next scapegoat. Because it’s so much easier to point the finger at them than it is to figure out ways to better ourselves.
Despite the fact that I live in Montana, I do know that Paris is not part of America, but I think it would be naïve to ignore the fact that we have contributed to the growing animosity throughout the world toward Muslims. For one thing, we bombed the hell out of them. Then we paint them with a broad brush, and although it’s undeniable that the actions of a few have helped to support whatever negative stereotypes people want to grasp onto, it is still just a few that are responsible.
The question of whether there are millions of others who support their actions is irrelevant, because we have done the same thing over and over again. What matters is that we deal with these events individually, trying to pinpoint the culprits and whatever supporters are helping them achieve their goals. But to continue to attack an entire belief system time and again leaves no room for understanding or peace. And it puts all of us in danger. It creates a world where even a seemingly neutral place like France can find itself in the news.
So what am I afraid of? It’s not the terrorists per se. It’s the extremists on both sides. It’s the reaction they have toward one more tragic, violent act. How much is this going to fuel that hate-mongering that has become so prevalent in our social media, including network news? How many people are going to see the others lining up for weapons and ask, “Who are we mad at?” And how many are going to say “those damn Muslims” without even bothering to explore how meaningless it is to reduce millions of people to a single word? And how many are going to use incidents like this to justify their belief that an act of retaliation is the only thing that’s going to get the message across, despite centuries of evidence to the contrary?
That side of free speech, my friends, scares the hell out of me. Every day.
Russell Rowland is a Billings native (West High ’76) who earned an M.A. in creative writing from Boston University. He is the author of three novels, “In Open Spaces,” “The Watershed Years,” and “High and Inside.” The latter two were finalists for the High Plains Book Award. He is currently working on a book called “Fifty-Six Counties: An American Journey,” which has him traveling to every county in Montana and writing about the issues around the state. You can also visit his website.
