Real Men Never Say the Magic Words
...by Mark Drake
I was going to compose a harangue built around the successful civil suit precipitated by the CHP's response to Mr. Cartier's modest complaint. All he wanted was an apology, but what he got was a criminal charge (which he succeeded in forcing dismissal of) -- and this reply to his complaint:
"Our investigation focused on the validity of your arrest for Section 148 of the Penal Code, your allegation that the officer pushed your head into the wall at the Humboldt County Jail, your allegation the officer applied the handcuffs too tight, and your allegation the officer used profanity and was rude. Our investigation has concluded your arrest was appropriate under the circumstances. Additionally, our investigation failed to substantiate your other allegations."
Nice choice of words, "failed." Anyway (as reported elsewhere in this issue), a court's investigation concluded otherwise. Long live juries of our peers!
But as I tried to focus on the detail points of this case which I wanted to make, other examples of the universal institutional reflex not to own up and cut losses kept crowding my mind. On the local level, the abusive manhunt for Bear Lincoln, which quickly degenerated into extended general harassment of his community (obviously in the hope that although they couldn't find him directly, police might succeed in getting someone to betray him through making life miserable for everyone who knew him for long enough). Mendocino officials were asked to negotiate this, and when they wouldn't a federal civil rights suit was filed. Or, how about the now world-infamous pepper-eyewash incident? A considerable lapse of judgment by a few guys who clearly spend too much time conspiring with one another instead of looking around outside the office curtains now and then as a reality-refresher. But after the national (and even international) press points out that they were way out of line do they say it won't happen again? Of course not, they just dig in their heels and stare straight ahead.
But then let's move up to the big screen: When the Soviets shot down the Korean airliner did they say "Oh, Jesus! What a tragic messup! Honest, we'll buy you a new airplane and distribute lollipops to all the next-of-kin. And we'll be more careful next time." Sure; about as likely as that the U.S. would have apologized for blasting that Iranian airliner in broad daylight over the gulf back in that war when the U.S. was siding with Iraq.
And this principle is universal; it doesn't apply just to sub-human "others" like redskins, hippie environmentalists or nationals of other countries. How about the GI's used in atomic tests just after WW II to determine how close to a blast people could be used and how soon after it they could reach ground zero and survive? How about the downwinders in Utah and Washington during the period of atmospheric radiation released in Nevada and at Hanford? How about the Agent Orange vets?
The Oobleck is a moral classic. I didn't realize that when I first came across it. I thought it was just more good, clean, nonsensical fun from our National Pediatrician, Dr. Suess. But while reading it to my favorite five year old a couple of decades later, I suddenly realized what it's about...
A King is bored and impatient with the short list of standard precipitations that nature so generously provides us, and calls his magicians up from their underground cell to demand something completely different in order to satisfy his thirst for frivolous amusement. They chant a suitable incantation and assure him he'll now get his very own unique natural phenomenon -- oobleck. Come morning, the first tiny droplets of a fascinating green goop start to fall, to the jaded King's delight. But it keeps on coming, in bigger and bigger blobs, until it grinds (binds?) the whole kingdom to a sticky, sloppy stop, and bids fair to smother all its inhabitants.
The King is unable to summon his magicians to cancel the order (or maybe their mouths are ooblecked shut, I don't remember). Finally the royal pageboy looses his cool completely and reads His Majesty the riot act, pointing to the hubris in not being content to enjoy the creation as supplied, and tells the King that instead of running around fuming and fretting he should damned well take the responsibility for what he's brought down on everyone's head and -- at the very least -- say, "I'm Sorry!"
The full realization of his culpability hits the King like a load of bricks and he sits down and sobs, "I'm Sorry! From the bottom of my heart, I'm really, truly Sorry!"
And miraculously (if not exactly unexpectedly -- this is a Dr. Suess book after all) at that very moment the sun starts to break through, the deluge of oobleck begins to taper off, and gradually the accumulated acre-feet of the horrid glop start to melt away without a trace.
Leaving a happier kingdom, governed by an immeasurably wiser King.
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