Let’s start with this:
I love me some Charles Ramsey. The fellow is a master of the language, equally
skilled in long- and short-form story-telling. In a media landscape where every
sinkhole victim, scandal participant and “other woman” manages to secure a publicist
and the legal services of the loathsome Gloria Allred by the time the evening
news is aired, Ramsey – instantly and all by himself – oozes concentrated authenticity. I can
only hope that McDonalds Corporation has noted Ramsey’s frequent and earnest product
placements on its behalf and has dispatched a multi-million-dollar endorsement
contract via corporate jet.
Not just that. I trust
that Jimmy and David and Jay will put Ramsey up in the finest hotels when they
fly him first class to come and speak to them. I pray the auto-tune guys are
kind in their treatment. Ramsey has already “trended” and will soon deservedly
become a “meme.” Indeed, there’s every likelihood that Ramsey is about to
become, however briefly, a cultural icon. To all of this I say, “Good on you,
Charles Ramsey.” As is demonstrated every time the Kardashians steal another
hour of airtime, this nation could do a lot worse.
What may keep him in
the limelight for more than the standard number of news cycles is the fact that this guy seems to have nearly perfect comedic timing, an unflinching
regard for the truth, a perceptive understanding of the impact of race in
American society, and a moral compass capable of finding North.* But for all
that Charles Ramsey is, for all that the star-maker machinery of popular
culture is about to make him, there’s one thing Charles Ramsey is not, one
thing that neither the glittering Chryons under his image, nor the nattering news
anchors** can make him.
Charles Ramsey is not a
hero.
I trouble to point this
out not because I oppose Ramsey’s fleeting or superficial glory, or merely out
of general cussedness. No. I think the matter is far graver than that.
I’ve written before
about narratives, about how no event is reported or discussed in its own
context anymore. Instead, it is seized upon by commentators and politicians and
other scoundrels to support whatever narrative that serves their ends. Any fact
or event not capable of such manipulation – and few are the facts composed of
sturdy enough stuff to hold their shape under such a hammering – is ignored. Any
proponent of such information is similarly dismissed or, more usually, demonized.
So a fellow who did
what Ramsey did is unrelentingly called a hero in service to a narrative that I
have labeled the Unified Field Theory of Dependency. It is the notion that the
average man or woman lacks the wherewithal to defend himself, or to save
herself in an emergency, or to help those around them in similar circumstances.
It is the insidious, statist contention that defense of life or the deterrence of
evil are skills so esoteric and so generally unattainable that they belong only
to an elite praetorian class. And – conveniently for would-be rulers of other men
– since no one can manage these daunting tasks on his own, no one has need of
the tools or liberty or autonomy with which to accomplish them.
Only in that narrative,
only in the reductionist world of the lord and the peasant is the act of
answering the door to a screaming woman and then dialing 911 heroic.
COOPER: Has the FBI said anything about a reward or anything? Because there was that - there was a reward for finding her.
RAMSEY: I tell you what you do, give it to them. Because if folks been following this case since last night, you been following me since last night, you know I got a job anyway. Just went picked it up, paycheck. What that address say? That say?
COOPER: I don't have my glasses. I'm blind as a bat.
RAMSEY: 2203 Seymour [Ramsey’s address]. Where are them girls living? Right next door to this paycheck. So yes, take that reward and give it to - that little girl came out the house and she was crying.
** Besides not being able to afford spectacle for Cooper, has CNN lost the
lease on its studios? I have to ask, because its anchors seem to spend every
minute of airtime standing outside these days. I get it – evidently having an a
talking head stand on a street in the same city as, but five blocks away from,
the police line demarcating the crime scene is supposed to convey to us the
overwhelming sense verisimilitude and urgency. I just hope these poor “news”
people are being supplied with comfy shoes, or maybe those cushy rubber mats
restaurants have for their line chefs.
*** I confess it: I
will never get tired of watching that.
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