Redshank Galloglass
Banned
The Tabloid Paradox: A Chink In the Puritanical Facade of the British
The Hilquit Banner-The Student Newspaper of Metropolis College [1]- Opinion Section
By Rachel Timmer
June 10, 1994
Living in Metropolis, I have had access to wide range of media from all over the world. Mexican Newspapers, Rossiyan newspapers, and Argentinian newspapers. Even in this bastion of world socialism, where capitalism was already killed after the Bienno Rosso, I've found media from the Franco-Brits. The usual soft socialism and hard reactionary tale, as well the ol'British Fleet Street Tabloid.
I happen to discover that while having lunch with an acquaintance from England, who I'll label Ben. He wasn't some young aristocrat disillusioned with the capitalist system, as the stereotype would have you believe, but a finance student from a middle class background who had arrived on a scholarship, who had left-leaning opinions.
At the lunch table, he placed the tabloid to his side as he enjoyed his salad. The bold font and large picture of a man in a red bra [2] caught my eye. I thought he was reading something kinky, and asked him what he was reading.
He showed me the tabloid, called The Daily Mail. The story was about a British Lord who had been caught in a police sting in a coke-fueled orgy. He showed it too be with an expression with disgust.
"This man apparently served tea laced with coke," Ben said, reading off the article with a scoff. "He mixes the British and American lifestyle very well, I'd say."
I was disgusted, not by the act itself, but the hypocrisy of it all. This man, a product of aristocracy, had likely bashed the Reds once, yet he had no problem enjoying an American life-in the words of my British pseudo-comrade-a life that as the typical Metropolis girl, I have enjoyed without shame or remorse.
I have no doubts that Ben would be appalled by such behavior (I can only imagine how he has adapted to living in a dorm room) but his own recriminations were combined with a weird curiosity.
"If it is so disgusting, why do you read it," I asked him. He put down his paper and stare at me in confusion. "Why are you obsessed with some vulgarian?" I repeated.
"It is like a house fire," Ben said, somewhat defensively. "Horrific but hard to turn away from." I decided not to press the issue, and we mostly engaged in idle chatter.
But I don't think his curiosity was out of some morbid fascination with a blatant hypocrite. After some digging, I found a grocery store run by British exiles that sell the Fleet Street tabloids. While the men working there were, unlike Ben, socialist exiles during the early 1980s, they still whooped like apes when I walked in.
The tabloids, in the tradition of capitalist dogma peddler William Randolph Hearst, sensationalized major news. A a small kitchen fire becomes a sign of sabotage, a small protest is considered to be a sign that the Reds are marching to burn down Westminster Abbey. And of course, whole articles devoted to sexual scandal.
Not just that, but pages devoted to the swimwear worn by celebrities in their private lives.
How does a society that praises society and chastity nevertheless obsessed with carnal events of the rich and famous?
The answer, is a voyeurism that belies a societal denial of natural urges. The old world, represented by the FBU, still holds on to the old view of sex that originated with St. Augustine, and his ascetic worldview that came to dominate Christian Europe by the end of the Middle Ages.
A poor British man with a stale marriage will read about this sleazy aristocrat with a hunger for that lifestyle. A closeted housewife will read about the adulterous British lord out of desire to fulfill some fantasy.
The venal cameraman seeking a few hundreds Pounds looking for the next celebrity is not only motivated by cash, but his own inhibited desire.
The tabloid is the approved porn in the capitalist world. The means by which a person can explore his or her fantasies in public, but still hide underneath a veneer of chastity.
In America, we have spent six decades slowly tearing down the boundaries of the old world. In 1934, our grandparents were the generation that learned that having fun with your wife in a respectful wife is not a crime, and that showing off some skin at the beach was not a vulgarity.
In 1964, our parents discovered that screwing around with a next door neighbor is not spousal betrayal, and that a same sex relationship can matter.
In 1994, a woman can go jogging in the nude in the summertime, as long she wears some sunscreen, and cocaine parties are, well tolerated, as long as you have an official nearby who can control the amount you use.
In big cities like Metropolis, the idea of voyeurism is mostly died out. Casual nudity is unavoidable. Not just in beaches and flats, but on the street, men and woman walk around the buff with little reaction, except by tourists from rural areas when the divide still remains, and tourists from abroad.
The concept of the "erotic novel" or "erotic magazine" is vanishing, as many mainstream books and magazines carry a bit of eroticism. Movies and TV shows today resemble the independent porn produced in the 1960s.
The sexual worker isn't some sign of societal decay, but can enjoy a spot on committees alongside white collar and blue collar workers.
Politicians enjoying sex isn't seen as scandalous, or even newsworthy, unless of course there was rape and gender discrimination involved.
The Bens of the world may try and act "pure", but their love of scandal belies a hunger that we in Metropolis have quenched. My hope is one day, the Bens of the world will stop their timidity,burn their tabloids, and embrace who they are inside. They will become liberated.
[1] OTL City College
[2] This was inspired by Lord Sewel, an OTL British Lord caught using cocaine and hookers.
TTL me would retreat to an isolated farmhouse in Nebraska.
