Radio
Excuses, excuses
Michael Vestey
Ionce made the mistake of driving the hundreds of miles from Washington to Charleston in South Carolina, a journey of almost unrelieved tedium; it is, of course, mind-numbing motorway all the way. I should have flown because America is such a vast country that driving long distances always takes longer than one thinks. To add a frisson to the boredom of the drive I decided to see how fast the sporty but heavy Pontiac I had hired could go. Need- less to say, I was stopped for speeding and had to follow the patrolman to the local sheriff.
The sheriff kept me in suspense about my fate, scribbling something on a pad in front of him. While I waited for this Spencer Tracy figure to deal with me, the patrolman asked, 'How's the Queen?' I hesitated, quickly thinking of ways I might ingratiate myself so that the fine might not be so high. Before I could answer, he added, 'You know, Mrs Thatcher.' Decid- ing not to contradict him and make him feel foolish, I said, 'She's very well.' Good,' he said, 'great lady."Yes, I saw her only the other day.' She ain't the Queen,' growled the sheriff finally glancing up. `She's the Prime Minister.'
`Yes, indeed,' I interjected, 'but the Queen is a great lady too.' I began chatting about these two great ladies, pretending that they were of my close acquaintance, and my obsequiousness worked. I came away with a $100 fine as opposed to twice that amount. What it reminded me of was the feeling I have always had in America, of being cut off from the rest of the world. The patrolman probably knew of only three English people in our entire history: Win- ston Churchill, the Queen and Margaret Thatcher; Diana, Princess of Wales had yet to become a global icon. The paradox here is that no other country on earth has such an extensive media and yet the citizens of few developed nations can take such little interest in the world outside.
I found one explanation for this in a series of five programmes on Radio Three last week: Postscript, This American Life, part of the network's Inventing America season. Ian Peacock set out to try to under- stand America through its radio and televi- sion stations. This is an easy and probably flawed method of coming to grips with America and is far more likely to tell us about the country's radio and television than anything else. Nor did he resist the temptation to home in on the freakish and bizarre. However, something of the diverse American nature did come through, mainly their exhibitionist streak and their fierce belief in protecting the first amendment on freedom of speech, despite the political correctness that emerged from their uni- versities.
Taking the view that America was not a country but a dream, he thought it weirder than anything imagined by Kafka. Many European sophisticates think this but where they go wrong is to compare Ameri- ca with Europe. When visiting America you have to clear away 2,000 years of European civilisation and accept that it is still a rela- tively young country where anything is pos- sible. Europe, particularly the EU, is the opposite of a 'can do' society, weighed down as it is by over-regulation and state control. No wonder the Baltic states, hav- ing just escaped the dead hand of commu- nism, are appalled at the mass of new laws and regulations they will have to imple- ment before they can join the EU.
When Peacock interviewed the fearsome Californian radio agony aunt Dr Laura Schlesinger, he quoted Oscar Wilde: 'The truth is rarely pure and never simple.' `That's very cute and adorable,' replied Dr Laura. 'But the truth is, I stole your car and I could have lots of explanations and excus- es why I stole your car. There were other options: Thou shalt not steal.' Sixty thou- sand listeners a day try to get through to talk to her about their problems even though they know she will brutally tell them to pull themselves together. She doesn't go in for moral relativism. 'My mom is having sex and alcohol problems,' Brenda tells her. 'People don't have sex and alcohol problems,' she snaps back. `They have bad behaviour.' Brenda wants to know if she should abandon her mother. `Brenda, let it go. You need to fill your life with people on the right track.' Brenda's not so sure. 'She's trying to get help.' `Brenda, Brenda ... she's making her choices . . . Why won't you let go?'
But all it really told us about America was that on KFI Talk in Sherman Oaks there was a religious broadcaster who believed strongly in absolutism. When a woman caller says she's in turmoil, Dr Laura says, 'Well, you're easy turmoil!' It's certainly mesmerising radio and unlike anything in Britain. Peacock was no match for her, accusing her of being puritanical. She felt she was reiterating God's com- mand. 'If you want to call God puritanical, go make His day!'
Peacock tuned into the Manhattan Neighbourhood Network, four television channels run by residents, elderly opera fanatics, transsexuals, neo-Nazis and a man who stares at the camera for 30 minutes. This is public access television where any- one can be famous for five minutes. To us, such fervent belief in experiencing real life through television seems strange — though we can see it happening here — but it's really a reflection of a country that is only 400 years old and which has started from scratch, creating its own rules and stan- dards. For all its imperfections, it's an astonishing achievement.
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