[R-G] Pilger: Why They're Afraid Of Michael Moore

[Anthony Fenton]

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Today's commentary:
http://www.zmag.org/sustainers/content/2007-10/17pilger.cfm

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ZNet Commentary
Why They're Afraid Of Michael Moore October 17, 2007
By John Pilger

In Sicko, Michael Moore's new film, a young Ronald Reagan is shown  
appealing to working-class Americans to reject "socialised medicine"  
as commie subversion. In the 1940s and 1950s, Reagan was employed by  
the American Medical Association and big business as the amiable  
mouthpiece of a neo-fascism bent on persuading ordinary Americans  
that their true interests, such as universal health care, were "anti- 
American".

Watching this, I found myself recalling the effusive farewells to  
Reagan when he died three years ago. "Many people believe," said  
Gavin Esler on the BBC's Newsnight, "that he restored faith in  
American military action [and] was loved even by his political  
opponents." In the Daily Mail, Esler wrote that Reagan "embodied the  
best of the American spirit - the optimistic belief that problems can  
be solved, that tomorrow will be better than today, and that our  
children will be wealthier and happier than we are".

Such drivel about a man who, as president, was responsible for the  
1980s bloodbath in central America, and the rise of the very  
terrorism that produced al-Qaeda, became the received spin. Reagan's  
walk-on part in Sicko is a rare glimpse of the truth of his betrayal  
of the blue-collar nation he claimed to represent. The treacheries of  
another president, Richard Nixon, and a would-be president, Hillary  
Clinton, are similarly exposed by Moore.  Just when there seemed  
little else to say about the great Watergate crook, Moore extracts  
from the 1971 White House tapes a conversation between Nixon and John  
Erlichman, his aide who ended up in prison. A wealthy Republican  
Party backer, Edgar Kaiser, head of one of America's biggest health  
insurance companies, is at the White House with a plan for "a  
national health-care industry". Erlichman pitches it to Nixon, who is  
bored until the word "profit" is mentioned.

"All the incentives," says Erlichman, "run the right way: the less  
[medical] care they give them, the more money they make." To which  
Nixon replies without hesitation: "Fine!" The next cut shows the  
president announcing to the nation a task force that will deliver a  
system of "the finest health care". In truth, it is one of the worst  
and most corrupt in the world, as Sicko shows, denying common  
humanity to some 50 million Americans and, for many of them, the  
right to life.

The most haunting sequence is captured by a security camera in a Los  
Angeles street. A woman, still in her hospital gown, staggers through  
the traffic, where she has been dumped by the company (the one  
founded by Nixon's backer) that runs the hospital to which she was  
admitted. She is ill and terrified and has no health insurance. She  
still wears her admission bracelet, though the name of the hospital  
has been thoughtfully erased.

Later on, we meet that glamorous liberal couple, Bill and Hillary  
Clinton. It is 1993 and the new president is announcing the  
appointment of the first lady as the one who will fulfil his promise  
to give America a universal health-care. And here is "charming and  
witty" Hillary herself, as  a senator calls her, pitching her  
"vision" to Congress. Moore's portrayal of the loquacious, flirting,  
sinister Hillary is reminiscent of Tim Robbins's superb political  
satire Bob Roberts. You know her cynicism is already in her throat.  
"Hillary," says Moore in voice-over, "was rewarded for her silence  
[in 2007] as the second-largest recipient in the Senate of health- 
care industry contributions".

Moore has said that Harvey Weinstein, whose company produced Sicko  
and who is a friend of the Clintons, wanted this cut, but he refused.  
The assault on the Democratic Party candidate likely to be the next  
president is a departure for Moore, who, in his personal campaign  
against George Bush in 2004, endorsed General Wesley Clark, the  
bomber of Serbia, for president and defended Bill Clinton himself,  
claiming  that "no one ever died from a blow job". (Maybe not, but  
half a million Iraqi infants died from Clinton's medieval siege of  
their country, along with thousands of Haitians, Serbians, Sudanese  
and other victims of his unsung invasions.)

With this new independence apparent, Moore's deftness and dark humour  
in Sicko, which is a brilliant work of journalism and satire and film- 
making, explains - perhaps even better than the films that made his  
name, Roger and Me, Bowling for Columbine and Fahrenheit 9/11 - his  
popularity and influence and enemies. Sicko is so good that you  
forgive its flaws, notably Moore's romanticising of Britain's  
National Health Service, ignoring a two-tier system that neglects the  
elderly and the mentally ill.

The film opens with a wry carpenter describing how he had to make a  
choice after two fingers were shorn off by an electric saw. The  
choice was $60,000 to restore a forefinger or $12,000 to restore a  
middle finger. He could not afford both, and had no insurance. "Being  
a hopeless romantic," says Moore, "he chose the ring finger" on which  
he wore his wedding ring. Moore's wit leads us to scenes that are  
searing, yet unsentimental, such as the eloquent anger of a woman  
whose small daughter was denied hospital care and died of a seizure.  
Within days of Sicko opening in the United States, more than 25,000  
people overwhelmed Moore's website with similar stories.

The California Nurses Association and the National Nurses Organising  
Committee despatched volunteers to go on the road with the film.  
"From my sense," says Jan Rodolfo, an oncology nurse, "it  
demonstrates the potential for a true national movement because it's  
obviously inspiring so many people in so many places."

Moore's "threat" is his unerring view from the ground. He abrogates  
the contempt in which elite America and the media hold ordinary  
people. This is a taboo subject among many journalists, especially  
those claiming to have risen to the nirvana of "impartiality" and  
others who profess to teach journalism. If Moore simply presented  
victims in the time-honoured, ambulance-chasing way, leaving the  
audience tearful but paralysed, he would have few enemies. He would  
not be looked down upon as a polemicist and self-promoter and all the  
other pejorative tags that await those who step beyond the invisible  
boundaries in societies where wealth is said to equal freedom. The  
few who dig deep into the nature of a liberal ideology that regards  
itself as superior, yet is responsible for crimes epic in proportion  
and generally unrecognised, risk being eased out of the "mainstream",  
especially if they are young - a process that a former editor once  
described to me as "a sort of gentle defenestration". None has broken  
through like Moore, and his detractors are perverse to say he is not  
a "professional journalist" when the role of the professional  
journalist is so often that of zealously, if surreptitiously, serving  
the status quo. Without the loyalty of these professionals on the New  
York Times and other august (mostly liberal) media institutions "of  
record", the criminal invasion of Iraq might not have happened and a  
million people would be alive today. Deployed in Hollywood's sanctum  
- the cinema - Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 shone a light in their eyes,  
reached into the memory hole, and told the truth. That is why  
audiences all over the world stood and cheered.

What struck me when I first saw Roger and Me, Moore's first major  
film, was that you were invited to like ordinary Americans for their  
struggle and resilience and politics that reached beyond the din and  
fakery of the American democracy industry. Moreover, it is clear they  
"get it" about him: that despite being rich and famous he is, at  
heart, one of them. A foreigner doing something similar risks being  
attacked as "anti-American", a term Moore often uses as irony in  
order to demonstrate its dishonesty. At a stroke, he sees off the  
kind of guff exemplified by a recent BBC Radio 4 series that  
presented humanity as pro- or anti-American while the reporter oozed  
about America, "the city on the hill".

Just as tendentious is a documentary called Manufacturing Dissent,  
which appears to have been timed to discredit, if not Sicko, then  
Moore himself. Made by the Canadians Debbie Melnyk and Rick Caine, it  
says more about liberals who love to face both ways and the whiny  
jealousies aroused by tall poppies. Melnyk tells us ad nauseam how  
much she admires Moore's films and politics and is inspired by him,  
then proceeds to attempt character assassination with a blunderbuss  
of assertions and hearsay about his "methods", along with personal  
abuse, such as that of the critic who objected to Moore's "waddle"  
and someone else who said he reckoned Moore actually hated America -  
was anti-American, no less! Melnyk pursues Moore to ask him why, in  
his own pursuit of an interview with Roger Smith of General Motors,  
he failed to mention that he had already spoken to him. Moore has  
said he interviewed Smith long before he began filming. When she  
twice intercepts Moore on tour, she is rightly embarrassed by his  
gracious response. If there is a renaissance of documentaries, it is  
not served by films such as this.

This is not to suggest Moore should not be pursued and challenged  
about whether or not he "cuts corners", just as the work of the  
revered father of British documentary, John Grierson, has been re- 
examined and questioned. But feckless parody is not the way. Turning  
the camera around, as Moore has done, and revealing great power's  
"invisible government" of manipulation and often subtle propaganda is  
certainly one way. In doing so, the documentary-maker breaches a  
silence and complicity described by Günter Grass in his confessional  
autobiography, Peeling the Onion, as maintained by those "feigning  
their own ignorance and vouching for another's . . . divert[ing]  
attention from something intended to be forgotten, something that  
nevertheless refuses to go away".

For me, an earlier Michael Moore was that other great "anti-American"  
whistleblower, Tom Paine, who incurred the wrath of corrupt power  
when he warned that if the majority of the people were being denied  
"the ideas of truth", it was time to storm what he called the  
"Bastille of words" and we call "the media". That time is overdue


John Pilger's new cinema documentary, The War on Deomocracy, is  
released in the UK and other countries. www.johnpilger.com.