Observe

Observe

Wednesday 23 November 2011

Rupert Murdoch: The Next Tyrant to Fall?



On the 20th October 2011, the world watched on YouTube as Libyan dictator General Muamar Gaddafi was pulled from a storm drain and beaten before the self-proclaimed ‘King of kings’ executed corpse was dragged through the streets. The Arab Spring uprisings brought about the fall of the last of those iconic, brutal political leaders that came to power in the 1970s and 1980s in the region. 

These are horrible images but, unsurprisingly, for a man who instigated massacres of his own people, supported international terrorism and protected the chief suspects of the 1988 Lockerbie bombing, the occasion was met with little sympathy. Similarly, little sorrow was shown in the international media community for the death of other such larger-than-life tyrants of those times such as Idi Amin, Pol Pot or Saddam Hussein. These figures dominated the media of the 1980s and 1990s and their passing marks the end of an era. 

Well, almost. There is one more tyrant who could soon be the next to fall, Newscorp International founder, Chairman and CEO Rupert Murdoch. Comparing Murdoch to those despots mentioned above may seem unfair but for the past twenty years, Rupert Murdoch has commanded more power and influence over the western world than the others combined. Admittedly, he has never ordered someone’s execution (so far as we know) but his methods of control are more insidious. It has been speculated that Murdoch owns close to 40% of the western global media market and has used this power-base to affect control over both the British and American media and political systems for two decades.

Through Murdoch’s close relationship to Margaret Thatcher, his defection to Tony Blair’s New Labour and the recent positioning of Andy Coulson as the Conservative Party Communications Director in 2007, his ability to covertly affect governmental policy-making has continued unabated. The most recent manoeuvrings to ensure that a full takeover of BSkyB was accepted would have offered Murdoch an unprecedented level of control over the British media landscape. 

And for some time this takeover looked inevitable. No political party or famous figure has been able to risk upsetting the media mogul for fear of his political power or the incriminating stories he can release if challenged. Yet it has been this area, the invasive gathering of scandalous information that has finally proven to be the Achilles’ heel to Murdoch’s empire.
The illegal phone-hacking scandal, and in particular revelations on the hacking of murdered teenager Millie Dowler’s mobile telephone sparked a media-storm which the corporation could not escape or bully into disappearing, even forcing  Murdoch to close The News of the World, a tabloid of 168 years and one of the best-selling publications in the world. It is the loss of advertising revenue due to the universal damnation of Newscorp’s activities which has destabilised his and his lieutenants’ positions within the corporation. 

It does not matter that it is financial rather than political pressures that have weakened the business magnate’s position, Al Capone was not finally jailed for his criminal underworld activities but on charges of tax evasion. Rupert Murdoch will hopefully fall due to the universal condemnation of his tasteless and cruel tactics.

We certainly do not want to witness the horrible image of Rupert Murdoch being dragged from a storm drain, beaten then executed, but maybe it would be ok to see the journalistic equivalent? For a man who has presided over the public shaming and ruination of so many, to have his political death played out across the very tabloid newspapers he created might prove a fitting end. 

Monday 7 November 2011

Deptford (P)Elvis


A gyrating moron twists and turns,
‘cross the dance-floor he mistakenly thinks he owns,
Toward the trio of voluminous beauties collected there
Half-stepping, and laughing, and flicking their hair.

The trio are blissfully unaware of the approaching fool,
Absorbed, as they are now, with reminiscences of school,
Of dancing, as then, to trashy 80’s songs
Older now, inflated, but with more easily visible thongs.

The idiot sidles, pelvic-thrusts, and slides his way
To his faded, nostalgic, and unsuspecting prey,
Takes one final fortifying swig of his J & D
And selects his target from the ravishing three.

He shifts his (considerable) weight and sidesteps into the group
With a dramatic dance flourish; a boogie swoop,
Meant to ingratiate him as one of ‘those fun guys’,
But his ALDI Audrey Hepburn merely rolls her eyes,

Shifts her (also considerable) weight so as to give a surreptitious wink
To her (similarly bloated) friend, the dirigible in pink,
Who laughs, pointedly and uproariously, at the audacity of men
Who think (like the pigs they are) that they’re good enough for women like them.

So she blocks him and with one last, delighted guffaw
Escorts the gaggle away from the dance-floor,
From this Pavlova Cassanova, this interloper
Who dared to stare but did not care for her

So he sucks down his humiliation, drowns the remains of his drink
And returns to the bar; his strut now more of a slink.
Restores bravado with JD, two doubles, both neat
And waits for his next chance to dance; his next crushing defeat.