Friday, February 10, 2006
SF Chronicle Character Assassination Must Stop!
I, and many members of my community, are tired of the San Francisco Chronicle's relentless, merciless character assassination. A newspaper is a sacred trust, a compact between journalists and the community they serve. In exchange for the community's readership and trust, journalists must get their facts straight; they must not libel innocent people; they must, as the saying goes, afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted. The Chronicle fell sadly short of this lofty goal last Sunday, February 5, 2006. It is time for our public officials to stand up and oppose the newspaper's actions. Only now, nearly a week later, am I calm enough to share my own thoughts.
I beg your pardon? Police use of force? No, no. I'm talking about Kenneth Wong's Requiem for Fred in the San Francisco Chronicle Magazine.
The story begins like a murder mystery: "Nobody shed any tears for Fred when he was laid to rest in the shallow grave my sister and my cousin Cindy had dug with their own hands. A shovel strike, a clump of dirt, a murmur or two, and the haphazard burial was over." Mr. Wong then attempts to lighten the mood with talk of happy families, new homes, cute fish "no bigger than Cindy's pinky," kittens, puppies, the usual tropes intended to bring warm thoughts. We learn that Fred is not a murder victim, but an injured fish worthy of Mr. Wong's sympathy.
But then, the true vitriol of Mr. Wong's dark soul pours forth: "I didn't want Fred to die in anonymity. So I decided to name him. Why Fred? Perhaps because he struck me as a typical underdog, like the asthmatic kid who got picked on by the bullies in grammar school, or the mailroom clerk who nursed a lifelong crush on the dimpled secretary. Bland and unassuming, Fred seemed like a fitting name for the little guy." (Emphasis mine.)
How to respond? On behalf of Freds everywhere, I am compelled to challenge Mr. Wong to a duel. I -- we -- must reassert our honor in the face of this horrific attack. Mr. Wong can name the time, place, and competition; I don't care. But rest assured, "bland and unassuming" will wipe the ground with a man who claims to have "an uncontrollable urge to write" but who demonstrates precious little sensitivity to others.
Or maybe I'll just name my next goldfish Kenneth.
I beg your pardon? Police use of force? No, no. I'm talking about Kenneth Wong's Requiem for Fred in the San Francisco Chronicle Magazine.
The story begins like a murder mystery: "Nobody shed any tears for Fred when he was laid to rest in the shallow grave my sister and my cousin Cindy had dug with their own hands. A shovel strike, a clump of dirt, a murmur or two, and the haphazard burial was over." Mr. Wong then attempts to lighten the mood with talk of happy families, new homes, cute fish "no bigger than Cindy's pinky," kittens, puppies, the usual tropes intended to bring warm thoughts. We learn that Fred is not a murder victim, but an injured fish worthy of Mr. Wong's sympathy.
But then, the true vitriol of Mr. Wong's dark soul pours forth: "I didn't want Fred to die in anonymity. So I decided to name him. Why Fred? Perhaps because he struck me as a typical underdog, like the asthmatic kid who got picked on by the bullies in grammar school, or the mailroom clerk who nursed a lifelong crush on the dimpled secretary. Bland and unassuming, Fred seemed like a fitting name for the little guy." (Emphasis mine.)
How to respond? On behalf of Freds everywhere, I am compelled to challenge Mr. Wong to a duel. I -- we -- must reassert our honor in the face of this horrific attack. Mr. Wong can name the time, place, and competition; I don't care. But rest assured, "bland and unassuming" will wipe the ground with a man who claims to have "an uncontrollable urge to write" but who demonstrates precious little sensitivity to others.
Or maybe I'll just name my next goldfish Kenneth.
