I have a confession to make. I am not a Good Man. But, for a few months I pretended to be.
From February 8th until yesterday, I operated a Twitter account called GoodMenzProject which spoofed the often ridiculous headlines tweeted by popular men’s blog The Good Men Project. The jig is up. I’ll explain why in a moment.
But first, for those of you who aren’t familiar with The Good Men Project, it was founded in 2009 by Tom Matlack, a former venture capitalist and noted cuddling enthusiast. The site’s grandiose mission statement proclaims:
“The Good Men Project is not so much a magazine as a social movement. We are fostering a national discussion centered around modern manhood and the question, ‘What does it mean to be a good man’?”
The site is best known in the feminist blogosphere as a repository for a litany of male grievances– a watered-down variant of the countless “MRA” (Men’s Rights Activist) blogs on the internet complaining about the evils of feminism and the victimization of men.
Above: The Most Popular Posts at the Good Men Project on January 15, 2012.
I suppose this is not entirely fair. GMP also features many personal stories and essays about manhood, that don’t wade into the minefield of gender politics. And feminism was not always its principal target. In 2011, one of the site’s most popular contributors was controversial professor Hugo Schwyzer. Unlike Matlack, Schwyzer was proud to claim the title of “feminist” and used GMP as a platform to address a male audience.
In December of last year, Schwzyer resigned after a high profile fight with Matlack over the latter’s increasingly vocal attacks against feminism. With Schwyzer gone, Matlack took the editorial reins, ushering in a period of weirder and more aggrieved attacks on feminism. GMP‘s headlines, always a source of unintentional comedy, became even more attention-grabbing and odd.
In other words, The Good Men Project is perfect fodder for satire. So on February 8th, I began to think like a Good Man. I started my spoof account and began tweeting fake GMP headlines, gathering a small following of readers from the feminist blogosphere. When these spoofed tweets mingled in Twitter timelines with actual tweets from the Good Men Project, they were often the source of confusion, causing a few people to invoke Poe’s Law which states that “without a winking smiley or other blatant display of humor, it is impossible to create a parody of fundamentalism that someone won’t mistake for the real thing.”
Somewhere along the way, even Matlack became a fan, if we are to believe the endorsement above.
In mid March, Noah Brand was hired as the new editor of the Good Men Project. Though I find some of Brand’s writing problematic, his work lacks the truly knuckleheaded quality that made Matlack’s clueless headlines so lulz-worthy. It was the beginning of the end for my little spoof account.
The real end came just a few weeks ago when Brand contacted me about running my article on gynecomastia on the Good Men Project. Of course I wanted my article to reach a wider audience. And, I rationalized, if they wanted to publish my work, it could only be a sign that Brand was slowly moving GMP on a more righteous path.
So, I agreed. Brand suggested the title “That Guy’s Got Tits?” Pretty good, I thought. But I’d been practicing at writing Good Men Project headlines for three months, and I was sure I could do better. It needed just the right mix of tasty linkbaiting and pop culture reference. “Dude Looks Like a Lady: Living With Man Boobs,” I countered. Brand agreed.
And so it was written. Things had come full circle. It was the last headline I would ever write for The Good Men Project.
The defining moment in The Dictator comes when Sacha Baron Cohen sings ”Ebony and Ivory” with the decapitated head of a black man. Cohen’s character, the fictional North African dictator General Hafez Aladeen has just snuck into a funeral in Harlem, intent on stealing a beard from the deceased. When Aladeen and his cohort are discovered, they hastily cut off the man’s head, and narrowly escape an angry black mob. Once they’ve returned to their hideout, Aladeen slips his hand inside the lifeless black head and uses it as a puppet to sing a mocking rendition of a song about racial harmony. It’s a sequence that may well define Cohen’s brand of comedy which presumes to irreverently satirize racial attitudes, while appropriating and hiding behind a black or brown mask.
Just as Aladeen is pursued by an angry mob, Cohen often leaves a trail of lawsuits in his wake, once his real-life marks realize they’ve been duped. For many, like Ayman Abu Aita, the Palestinian civilian, smeared as a terrorist in Bruno, and the impoverished Romanian villagers mocked in Borat, there is little recourse. Cohen has the deep pockets of a Hollywood legal team, while the residents of Glod don’t even have running water.
When you want to make it in Hollywood, however, you pick your targets carefully and go through their agents. Only then can you safely teabag Eminem or ”kidnap” Pamela Anderson. When in doubt, pick on someone smaller, a C-lister or an old woman and then call it satire.
The Dictator is Cohen’s first film as a Hollywood insider. Too famous to prank anyone with internet access, Cohen has brought his minstrel show out of the realm of Candid Camera verite and into the tamer genre of middlebrow American comedy. He brought his brown masks along with him, but the racial satire is broader than ever before.
As you may have guessed from the marketing assault, Cohen plays General Hafez Aladeen, the tyrannical leader of a fictional North African country called Wadiya. He has a coterie of female bodyguards, outrageous fashion sense, and a penchant for executing anyone who crosses him. The movie follows Aladeen to New York, where he’s meant to address the UN, but due to a political conspiracy, gets replaced with a doppelganger. Aladeen finds refuge in a hippie co-op run by a naive vegan feminist played by Anna Faris. Most of the film’s comedy rehashes Cohen’s ethnic fish out of water template, with Aladeen’s racism and misogyny clashing against the liberal values of his new friends. At one point, Faris offers to take him to visit the “rape center.” You can guess the punchline to that one.
Cohen also plays the doppelganger Efawadh, a dimwitted peasant who, when left in a room with naked women, mistakes them for goats and tries to milk their breasts. He also drinks his own piss in front of a UN Assembly.
Despite its retrograde premise and Arab minstrelsy, The Dictator opened last week to mostly positive reviews, and almost no serious criticism. Mainstream pop culture sites, even those that typically critique racism in the media, were curiously silent. It was a stark contrast to the high profile controversies of the Pop Chips ad featuring Ashton Kutcher in brownface and Billy Crystal’s Sammy Davis shtick at the Oscars. Is this because as Max Blumenthal tweeted, “Some minstrel shows are more popular than others?”
To be fair, there has been some pushback. In an op-ed for CNN, Dean Obeidallah criticized the movie, not because of its racist jokes, but because Cohen is white. “If you are going to mock and ridicule us for profit,” he wrote “can you at least cast Arabs and Indians to play us?” There was also this lengthy essay at Loonwatch and a more blunt assessment at Foreign Policy.
Two days before the film opened, Daily Show correspondent Aasif Mandvi penned a satirical column for Salon attacking Hollywood’s history of whitewashing. His article and the accompanying slideshow called out familiar lowlights like Mickey Rooney as a bucktoothed Japanese neighbor in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, but made no mention of Cohen or The Dictator. When I engaged with Mandvi on Twitter, he denied that The Dictator fit his definition of whitewashing.
Mandvi responded that “whitewashing and minstrelsy are separate issues” and said that he really couldn’t comment on Cohen’s character without seeing the film. (Mandvi has a small part in the movie.) Ultimately, he claimed that the issue was too nuanced for Twitter.
Well, let’s look at those nuances. Below I present the most common defenses of The Dictator and my thoughts on them.
But Aladeen isn’t an “Arab.”
Perhaps anticipating charges of minstrelsy, early in the film, Cohen has Aladeen deny that he is an Arab. Racial ambiguity has been a hallmark of Cohen’s shtick ever since Ali G, harassed by an authority figure, asked “Is it because I is black?”
But there’s no mistaking the inspiration for this character. A map in the movie situates Aladeen’s homeland of Wadiya directly to the east of Sudan. Cohen has said that the film was inspired by a novel penned by Saddam Hussein. Aladeen is also clearly meant to resemble the late Muammar Gaddafi. There’s also a hint of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, as the film’s timely plot concerns Wadiya’s enrichment of uranium “for peaceful purposes.”
Though Wadiya is clearly an Arab country, the film follows Hollywood’s Orientalist playbook, mixing Persian, Arab and South Asian performers and cultural references. The central Arab characters are played by Cohen, Ben Kingsley (who is part Indian) and Jason Manzoukas (a Greek American.) The movie’s theme song is by Punjabi MC, a British Indian musician.
The Dictator’s humor is not racist. It’s about racism.
This is one of the slipperiest defenses offered for racist humor– that it’s not really racist, but rather ironically commenting on racism. The claim almost always deserves scrutiny. First of all, if this were true, The Dictator would not have found such popularity among racists, as these tweets demonstrate. OK, you might say, perhaps Cohen’s satire goes over the heads of your average American racist. But this ignores the thorny nature of ironic humor. In the film, Aladeen refers to black people as “subsaharans” and “blackies.” The white liberal audience laughs (mine did). Are they laughing at Aladeen’s ignorance? At the violation of hearing a racial slur? Do they recognize their own racism in the character?
In one scene, Aladeen remarks that darker-skinned men have lower sexual standards in women. The audience laughs again, as if the joke has revealed an uncomfortable “politically incorrect” truth, rather than pandered to a racist stereotype. Ironic racism lets audiences have our cake and eat it too. It gives us permission to laugh at the violation of a racist joke, while comforting us that we do not share the same toxic attitudes.
Most of the film’s humor– the racial caricatures, the creepy attacks on feminism, the numerous rape jokes and the gay stereotypes have a similar thorniness. We’re invited to laugh at their wrongness but allowed to feel superior to such backwards attitudes, because we’re good liberals who know better, while the (brown) characters in the movie are savages.
But Cohen is an equal opportunity satirist. He makes fun of everyone, even Jews.
It’s true that in The Dictator, as in his previous work, Cohen’s humor relies heavily on anti-semitic jokes. But here, as in Borat, he’s attributing those sentiments to the ethnic Other. Cohen doesn’t really mock Jews. In fact, he makes a caricature of the Other’s anti-semitism. Borat, for instance, was a vicious anti-semite whose village in Kazakhstan held an annual “Running of the Jews.” This gag was based on a lie, because anti-semitism in Kazakhstan is actually quite rare. One of the deeper ironies of the village sequence is that Borat was also racist against “Gypsies.” And yet, Cohen the prankster had no reservations about exploiting the people of Glod to make the film.
Even in Cohen’s most notorious stunt, in which Borat led a bar full of “rednecks” in a singalong of “Throw the Jew Down the Well,” it’s unclear how much he revealed about actual anti-semitism. Though what we saw onscreen was a room full of rural white Americans cheerfully singing about killing Jews, follow-up reports suggest that many of the patrons were in on the joke.
In any case, if Cohen were really an equal opportunity satirist, he would pick more challenging targets. His frat-boy style satire doesn’t tip any sacred cows, for instance, when it comes to Israel. Cohen, an Orthodox Jew who was raised in the Zionist Habonim Dror, rarely criticizes Israel and its policies. Instead, his comedy exaggerates anti-semitism, while also attributing violence, homophobia and misogyny to the Muslim Other. It’s pinkwashing as comedy.
But Aladeen makes a speech where he criticizes America too, right?
Yes, in the film’s penultimate scene, Aladeen gives a speech in which he inadvertently argues that America with its income inequality, media consolidation and disproportionate imprisonment of African Americans already has the hallmarks of a dictatorship. It’s the movie’s only attempt at critiquing a first world target, but it mostly feels like pandering to Obama liberals.
The Dictator is not the work of a radical satirist, but of an establishment court jester. If Cohen’s political sympathies are at all in doubt, check out his social media team’s obnoxious linkbait at Buzzfeed, where Evo Morales is branded as a “dictator” mocked for wearing traditional Andean clothing (seems they’ve silently edited this since I tweeted about it) and where Hugo Chavez finds himself in a rogue’s gallery with Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini and Kim Jong-Il.
The Dictator has much in common with voyeuristic spectacles like Boobquake and Draw Muhammad Day, in which Western liberals engaged in Islamophobia while purporting to defend feminism and free speech.
The Dictator is like a modern version of Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator.
Cohen probably thinks he’s Charlie Chaplin lampooning Hitler, but of course Hitler was still on top of the world when The Great Dictator came out in 1940; Cohen is actually Chaplin’s antithesis, a first-world bully content to target the Other.
In other words, Gaddafi wasn’t Hitler. The War on Terror isn’t WW2. And this is a shitty analogy.
Whatever you think of The Dictator, it does not arrive in a cultural vacuum. It finds us, instead, at the “end” of a bloody and illegal war that had grave consequences for the people of Iraq. It appears as we are “winding down” our long war in Afghanistan. And while we rattle sabers with Iran. It follows Obama’s, um, “unauthorized bombing” of Libya (Wadiya’s most obvious inspiration) which led to the eventual capture, rape and execution of Gaddafi.
The film’s release coincides with a new era of drone warfare against Arabs and Muslims, of faceless warriors dropping remote control bombs on Pakistan and Yemen. It arrives in an era of presidential kill lists, indefinite detention and omnipresent surveillance of Muslim Americans. It opens while liberals boast about the one-year anniversary of President Obama’s success in putting a due process-free bullet in Osama bin Laden’s face. In short, Cohen’s minstrel show comes in the midst of a period of peak violence against Arabs and Muslims.
There is no war without culture war, and Cohen’s Dictator shtick has the dubious function of allowing us to laugh at (or perhaps justify) our recent and ongoing crimes of war and racial profiling. After Cohen smeared Abu Aita as a terrorist in Bruno, he perpetrated the lie in an interview with David Letterman while out of character. Branding ordinary Palestinians as terrorists to further your own agenda? That’s what bullying governments do. It is not the stuff of satire.
The Dictator is not a product of the Arab Spring, but a sideshow in the unending War on Terror.