By Selwyn Duke

I bound out of bed in eager anticipation of the start of the day.
No one had to tell me to set the alarm last night — it's the only time
I don't mind rising early.  It's the mid 1970s, and for me it's the
days of Lego blocks and Tinker Toys, Estes model rockets and action
figures (and no, in the boy world you don't call them dolls!).  My life
is relatively simple; to me, the biggest problems on this earth are
homework, the occasional bully and an always skimpy defense budget (you
don't raise an armed force of hundreds of toy soldiers, ships, planes
and forts from nothing, you know).  My greatest ambitions are winning
the next battle on the living room floor and saving enough money to
buy that ever elusive but oh-so-cool radio control plane I pine after.

Right now, though, those things have been tucked away in the
recesses of my mind.  It's Saturday morning, inarguably my favorite
time of the week.  School ended yesterday, and Monday morning seems like
just a distant quasi-reality.  I am in the here and now; nothing
intrudes into my psyche as I look forward to my weekly ritual and
favorite pastime.  It's the only time that I have the TV all to myself;
my father, the undisputed Sultan of the tube (and he conquered it
without a remote — that's talent) is out playing golf.  My mother is
still in bed, enjoying some much deserved slumber, and my much older
siblings are also absent – they no longer care to venture into this
delicious realm.  It is my domain and I have tunnel vision.  I am all
alone.

Alone, that is, save my companions behind the glass screen.  What
lies before me is a seeming eternity of cartoon bliss.  The line-up
changes slightly with the calendar, but, regardless, the day starts at 8
a.m.  Some shows have earned their stripes and have won a permanent place
in my heart; others I only flirt with until something better supplants
them.  Sometimes "Sylvester and Tweety," "Woody Woodpecker" or "Hong
Kong Phooey" would kick off the day, and sometimes it would be
"Scooby-Doo, Where are You?" or the "Bugs Bunny Show."  But then this
last show evolved into "The Bugs Bunny/Roadrunner Hour" and became the
pièce de résistance.  "Tom and Jerry" and/or "Tarzan, Lord of the
Jungle" often follow, and sometimes "Josie and the Pussycats" or
"Heathcliff and Marmaduke" make an appearance. 

This world is rife with
prejudice, as human beings are second-class citizens — persona
non grata — I don't want to see them.  But I make an allowance for "The
Land of the Lost"; after all, going back in time and seeing dinosaurs
and the evil, flesh-eating Sleestaks is neat.  But now it's around noon
and I watch "Fat Albert" with an intense sense of foreboding, for I
know that it will be today's last cartoon hoorah.  What follows are . . . of
all things . . . shows with real people!  They talk about grown-up things
like business and politics, and I'll be brought back to reality as my
world comes crumbling down.  To me, "Fat Albert" is a sign of the End
Times.

Fast-forward to the third millennium.  My erstwhile pastime has long
since faded into the annals of my life; I'm a big boy now and my
diversions take different forms.  I appreciate sleep much more than I
did back then, but on one Saturday morning I was, regrettably, not
cradled in the arms of Morpheus, owing to a bout with insomnia. It was
then that I decided to revisit my old pastime. 

It was not in the least nostalgic.  For one thing, it became obvious
that Saturday mornings probably don't possess the same kiddie cachet
that they once did, as the mainstream networks no longer have the
cartoon-dense line-up that used to light up my eyes.  Of course, this is
because the advent of cable brought kids cartoons 24/7; there's even a
"Toon Network" now.  Also, not surprisingly, most of the old standbys
have been replaced by newer and often very different cartoon fare —
very different.  

What I encountered ensured that my experience would not only be
bereft of any nostalgic qualities but that it would actually be
somewhat sad.  The stuff of cartoons used to be Elmer Fudd on a
perennial hunt for Daffy Duck, or Wile E. Coyote fruitlessly scheming
against the elusive Roadrunner.  In contrast, today's cartoons are often
highly politicized by-products of liberal agendas.  A common theme seems
to be to cast a corporation as a villain, as an evil entity whose only
goal is to pollute the Earth as much as possible; that's the
radical-environmentalist agenda.  Then you have shows like the
"Powerpuff Girls," in which is present the feminist message proclaiming
that it's ideal for girls to be just like boys.  Such shows are
obviously meant to counteract what their creators might call "gender
stereotyping"; you've heard the spiel: "You can be strong, tough and
feminine."  I wonder if these people have ever thought about how
femininity is different from masculinity. Most blatant, though, was an
episode of "The New Johnny Quest" in which the villain was dressed
exactly like a Catholic priest — clerical outfit, hat and all.  And all
this is the handiwork of the sensitivity crowd, the liberals who claim
that no person should be offended and no group singled out.  I guess the
new Johnny Quest is the old Johnny Quest after a stint in a
re-education camp.  

Unfortunately, far too many cartoons have become just another front
in the culture war for the hearts and minds of America's children.  Gone
are the days of animation icons like Chuck Jones, William Hanna and
Joseph Barbera, to whom entertainment was the goal and seeing a young
child's eyes light up the reward.  This almost extinct attitude is why
the older works don't serve to shape thinking or beat the drum for some
cause.  And while he wasn't a cartoonist, I think that attitude is
expressed well by Mark Twain, who wrote as an introduction to Huckleberry Finn: "PERSONS attempting to find a motive in this narra-
tive will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will
be banished."  In other words, just read it, have fun and lose yourself
in a different world for a spell.  Unfortunately, in many cases the
aforementioned artists' mantle has been inherited by second-rate
talents with third-rate minds who seem to fancy themselves social
activists first and entertainers second. 

Of course, this is not to say that having a moral in a work is a
modern phenomenon, although having one in a cartoon certainly is.  But
the morals present in stories years ago were generally very different
in nature.  "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" and "The Three Little Pigs"
certainly send moral messages: the former teaches that if you lie
people will cease to trust you and then won't believe you even when you
tell the Truth; the latter teaches that when you have a task you should
take care to do a good job the very first time.  But these are simple
Truths, not part of an effort to garner support for political
or social movements. 

More importantly, though, is where these moral
messages teach kids to place the focus.  "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" and
"The Three Little Pigs" teach kids to place the spotlight on
themselves, encouraging them to perfect their own behavior.  They say to
kids: you shouldn't lie and here's why, or you should be conscientious
and here's why.  This encourages children to be humble and examine their
own flaws; it instills in them the idea that their problems lie not in
their stars but in themselves.  This lies in
stark contrast to the modern moral messages, which often tell us to
place the focus and thereby the onus on things outside ourselves.  To put it differently, the lying boy and the
three pigs are not meant to be representatives of any of any specific
group or entity; they are John Q. Publics, parts of each of
us.  Corporations or representatives of a Church are not, however;
therefore, when you demonize them you are engendering in children
bitterness toward, distrust of and sometimes even hatred for others.  

This does a lot to divide people and make them into good foot soldiers
in battles against what you've told them is a bogeyman, but very
little to make them better.  On the other hand,
traditional messages usually tell people that it is every individual's
primary responsibility to make the man in the mirror into a better
human being.  And this is wise.  After all, if we all were far better
people, there would be fewer bogeymen to vanquish.  The first step
toward changing the world is changing a minuscule part of it: yourself.

I'm sure the old young Lego-building-rocket-blasting-toy
soldier me would have liked the politicized cartoons as much as the new, older,
social critic me abhors them.  They are designed to be pleasing to the
youthful eye for the same reason why rat poison is made so that it
will taste good to rats.  Spiritual poison will only be imbibed when
it's palatable, and brainwashing will only be effective when you're not
aware it's occurring.

Tragically, there are those among us who are
willing to pursue a slash and burn policy and denude children's souls
just so they can plant the seeds of their brave new world.  And as I
strive for holiness in my life and try to regain some of the innocence
of my youth, I realize ever more intensely what kind of offense
this is.  It is the worst kind of child abuse: the robbing of childhood
innocence.

               © 2002 Selwyn Duke —All Rights Reserved