Chomsky's Moral Integrity

A Minimal Level of Moral Integrity

Central to Chomsky’s arguments in Necessary Illusions, and to the significance Chomsky applies to the propaganda model, is an appeal to “a minimal level of moral integrity” (139). Chomsky offers no counterpoint to this vague moral integrity. By leaving the appeal to morality at the periphery of his arguments, instead of engaging in it directly, Chomsky fails to evoke the reconciliary mode that would be necessary to bring about the moral social change he demands, democratizing the media, with a case in point being Chomsky’s inefficient treatment of Herbert Anaya and Armando Valladares.

Chomsky does not argue for “democratizing the media” at the beginning of Necessary Illusions even though that may very well be his project. Instead, Chomsky explains why “the concept of ‘democratizing the media’ has no real meaning within the terms of political discourse in the United States” (2). The qualifier, “within the terms of political discourse in the United States” hides Chomsky’s argument. Chomsky later implies that he does not regard himself as writing “within the terms of political discourse”—rather, he engages in institutional analysis outside it. Chomsky does not proclaim that his project is indeed institutional analysis. Instead, he more often admits to engaging in such only through negatives, such as when Chomsky argues, “We [the respectable intellectual community] may speak in retrospect of blunders, misinterpretation, exaggeration of the Communist threat, faulty assessments of national security, personal failings, even corruption and deceit on the part of leaders gone astray; but the study of institutions and how they function must be scrupulously ignored, apart from fringe elements or a relatively obscure scholarly literature” (40) [italics mine]. Adverbs indicate Chomsky’s personal regard for the issues at stake and the moral assumptions underlying his characterization. Just as the ignorance of institutional analysis goes against the minimal level of moral integrity that Chomsky relies upon in how scrupulous it is, so is his work and the work of those with him valuable because of how scholarly it is. Although appearing scholarly may be important to Chomsky, the impenetrable distance he takes toward most of his subjects takes the teeth out of his arguments. Instead of arguing for a positive scholarly method for democratizing the media, Chomsky persists in putting up critical airs while nevertheless revealing himself and his morality through obtrusive adverbs. Chomsky’s argument that the US Media’s adherance to the Propaganda Model is indeed immoral should be central in his work. The pretense of writing scholarly and maintaining critical distance detracts, rather than adds to, Chomsky’s assessments.

By witholding his point so frequently, Chomsky risks coming off as resorting to tu quoque. For instance, an effective argument could be created based on the information that Chomsky presents regarding the difference between the prison memoirs of Armando Valladares compared to that of Herbert Anaya. Chomsky quotes news sources reporting on the books portrayal of, “’bestial prisons,’ ‘inhuman torture,’ and ‘record of state violence’” (138). Instead of positing an argument around these quotations, though, Chomsky begins the paragraph by saying, “To take another case” and ends with, “Subsequent coverage was pitched at the same level” (138). The result of this void of argumentation is that it appears the use of quotation itself is Chomsky’s argument, that by leaving all of the quoted material as quotation instead of as plain text it is somehow untrue. Chomsky then juxtaposes this material to the following paragraph depicting the US media’s treatment of Herbert Anaya, or the lack thereof. Chomsky’s only quote in that paragraph is “lightheaded and cold-blooded Western intellectuals” the source of which is not obvious. Chomsky begins to fall into his own propaganda model. Whereas all his coverage of Valladares’ case remains compartmentalized behind quotations, Chomsky is only too willing to offer speculation about the actual conditions of Herbert Anaya, even going so far to presume that his assassination came “probably by the U.S.-backed security forces” (138) with no evidence whatsoever. Following this juxtaposition Chomsky presents what appears to be the only argumentat on the preceding two paragraphs, that US media employs a “double standard” (139). If Chomsky employed the rhetoric of the moral integrity he values, then he would have built his ethos first by condemning the treatment of Valladares by Castro. Chomsky’s moral integrity, minimal though it may be, should be enough to recognize that the mistreatment of Anaya, and the representation of Valladares by the US media, does not diminish the wrongs done by Valladares or the atrocities of Castro’s prisons. Without this condemnation, it seems Chomsky suggests that Valladares and his criticisms, by being represented in the US media, is less valid a subject of injustice than that of Anaya. Chomsky would do better to argue that the treatment of both prisoners was immoral, even if it meant echoing some if not all of the claims by the US media. Instead, leaving his paragraphs devoid of argumentation, he risks portraying the treatment of Valladares as justified because of the treatment of Anaya.

By not positing how a democratized media would be more effective at representing both subjects of Valladares and Anaya, Chomsky further risks positing a false dilemma between either opting for the existing media of the US or Europe. Chomsky discusses the methodologies of using the propaganda model in regard to US coverage of elections in Nicaragua against El Salvador and Guatemala. As Chomsky argues, “One approach has been to compare the U.S. coverage of the two cases; another, to compare U.S. and European coverage of the same case. The results provide a dramatic indication of the subordination of the U.S. media to the goals established by the state authorities” (139). While this assertion may be true, it nevertheless does not present a form of media that lacks subordination. Chomsky’s argument would benefit from an identical comparison for a similar case for European coverage to see if it too follows the propaganda model. If so, then perhaps Chomsky need not be worried about democratizing the media at all—if one read European coverage of American interests, and American coverage of European interests, it seems possible to avoid the propaganda model altogether. This solution contradicts Chomsky’s concluding paragraph to Necessary Illusions, however, which argues, “The answer will lie in the prospects for popular movements, with firm roots among all sectors of the population, dedicated to values that are suppressed or driven to the margins within the existing social and political order…” (136). This would seem to be what Chomsky means by democratizing the media, yet this is not the mode that Chomsky engages in throughout the rest of the work. Instead, just as he referred to the vacuous appeal to a minimal level of moral integrity, in regard to the elections of Nicaragua, Chomsky argues that, “By any reasonable standard, the elections in Nicaragua were superior in circumstances” (139) [italics mine]. This comes off as a snipe instead of a substantive argument. Instead of engaging with potential reasons why the US media would feel justified in its coverage of the Nicaragua elections, Chomsky assumes a priori the position of knowing a universal “reasonable standard.” Again, doing so frames Chomsky’s arguments so that he seems to regard the Nicaraguan elections as the apotheosis of democracy and elections in El Salvador as an unequivocable sham. As two democratic elections of differing methodologies, both are equal candidates for praise and scrutiny. Arguing that the US media fails to characterize both subjects does not promote the democratic grassroots agenda that Chomsky views as the salvation of America. It offers a dilemma with no solution; the choice becomes buying the propaganda model or opting out of news coverage in its entirity.

Chomsky offers no central thesis that unifies his arguments in Necessary Illusions. Instead, Chomsky refrains from making overt political arguments by retaining the façade of scholarship. Chomsky does not posit for a democratized media capable of maintaing moral integrity and reasonable standards, and even these positive traits are based on uncritical presuppositions. Instead, Chomsky reproduces his own propaganda model, apologizing for non-US actions while exercizing all the capacities of his imagination to portray the US in the least positive light possible. Much of Chomsky’s evidence could be used to create compelling evidence for a raison d’etre of a grassroots democratic media structure, however, Chomsky does not use it to that effect.

What if the answer is "yes"?

“Are Black Women Really Apes?”

We all know that black women are not really apes. The absurd racism of previous centuries can stun us, and this question seems more of a rhetorical device than it is a real question—after all, who would argue that any human being is non-human today? Yet, if it is a rhetorical device, what is the end of the rhetoric? What point is it supposed to reinforce?

It is tempting for a reader to say: “No.” No further explanation is necessary. Humans and apes are not the same species; sexuality has no impact on specization, and so the question essentially answers itself: by defining something as “woman” we presume that that woman is not ape. “Woman” implies humanity.

So what is the end of this essay, “Are Black Women Really Apes?” Is it to ask that question—or another?

A better question to ask might be, “How, and why, would anyone ever even ask such an absurd question?” That question is far more difficult to answer.

The paragraph that immediately follows the title appears at first to be a red herring, some sort of pretentious overture set out to present the tone as one that is all-knowing, the speech of an elite speaking from the armchair of Enlightenment.

Yet it is also disconcerting. The first sentence, “Through the 19th century, carnivals put on the freak show.” Why is it “the” freak show? Why not “freak shows?” It almost seems as though this sentence, and this entire paragraph, should be struck from the essay. It would be better to get to the point quicker, faster. If it is to be an elegy for Sarah Bartman and Joseph Merick, as it appears to be at times throughout, then why not write a poem instead even? Why does this essay exist?

Another sentence that is infuriating: “We only recently have evidence as to what real disease Joseph Merrick, or “The Elephant Man,” had.”

By what right does this author deem him or herself worthy to use the term “we”? What is this author presupposing in such a claim? Surely he or she had no part in the historical study that discovered this nearly irrelevant factoid.

Also, as far as overtures go, this is a poor one indeed. Here we are having recent evidence when we still do not really know who Sarah Bartman or Joseph Merrick are. Why are we reading about them? Again: Why does this essay exist?

And why all these fancy schmancy medical terms in the next few paragraphs?

Skipping until the next mark of irritation, without really bothering to understand what exactly all those fancy schmancy words mean, we come to this bizzarro sentence: “But what name do we give the disease of the spectators who paid to gaze at each of them?” Oh. Zing! Heyoo! Wow, what an overuse of the rhetorical question. Don’t you love the presupposition here—yet it’s not even really a presupposition, it’s more of a flat out accusation. The people who paid to poke this black woman’s ass were “diseased.” Cute. Clever. But not compelling.

Yet another moment of extreme frustration: “If you are having difficulty making the link between sexual organs and being an ape, perhaps other great scientists can help clarify.”

“You” the author says. You don’t even know me. Who are you to use “you” against me? Why are you presupposing that I can’t follow your argument (not that I can). And of course another little jab, “great scientists.” I’ve never heard of these douchebag scientists, and of course I don’t regard them as great. I’m bourgeoise enough to recognize a snarky comment like that as simple flippancy.

It’s at this point that I begin to lose patience. Why should I bother reading this essay and not another? Why must be there so much rubbish thrown into this argument? I can’t discern a thesis, I can’t follow half the claims, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

I can’t decide.


A further point. Joseph Merrick too was dissected. Joseph Merrick too was put on display after his death. The difference between them is less extreme, after death, than any dissimilarity in life. So they were not so different.

For each, scientists tried to understand them. The desire to understand may have come from the desire to substantiate a racist claim—but they still sought to understand.

If that is this case—and the essay might even emphasize that it is—then is it to mock the scientists of the past from afar? Or is it asking a different sort of question altogether.

The question asked at the beginning, that obviously rhetorical one, “Are black women really apes?” Did they not need to test that claim? And so they tried to. They were willing to put their racist beliefs to the test and see what happened. Their mode of interpretation, however, despite any pretenses at the “scientific method” was not enough to dissuade them—instead, their preconceived notions shaped what they saw as “evidence” and helped them mount a growing discourse on the female body as reflective of the tendencies of the female mind.

The spectator has nothing more than idle curiosity—and in pursuing that curiosity, to pay to have the experience of poking the black woman’s ass, that “curiosity” leads very directly and obviously to exploitation. Yet, in this case too, the “Scientific” impulse too led to exploitation. And in this case, the scientific impulse was based on seeking out observable phenomena.

This was Science. This is Science. Perhaps this essay’s final question is: Who are the martyrs to Science? And in the end, was it all worth it?

What if the answer to that last question is “yes”?