Huck Finn, now Dire Straits?

It's been a long time since I wanted my MTV -- but right now, I'll take that over the CBSC any day.

In one of the most head-slappingly moronic moves in history, the national embarrassment that is the Canadian Broadcast Standards Council has ruled that Dire Straits' 1985 song Money for Nothing can no longer be played in its original form in Canada -- because one person in Newfoundland was offended over its use of a word that starts with F, rhymes with maggot and refers to gay men.

Never mind that the song is more than 25 years old and has been played countless times. Never mind that the supposedly offensive word is as old as the hills, and used regularly on TV, in books and movies, and by pretty much every kid on the planet.

And never mind that even the most cursory examination of the lyrics -- a jab at the vapidity of music videos, as seen through the eyes of a joe-sixpack character -- makes it obvious to anyone without a head injury that Mark Knopfler is using the term in question humourously and ironically. Money for Nothing is no more homophobic than Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn is a KKK manifesto. That classic novel is now facing the same sort of narrow-minded censorship south of the border over its use of the notorious N-word.

But sadly, the subtleties of context, satire and irony no longer apply in our burgeoning idiocracy. Hell, thanks in no small part to Alanis Morissette, most people don't even know what irony is. And they don't want to know. They're too busy being mad.

And there's plenty to be mad about these days: Lying leaders drunk with power. Rampant greed destroying our economy. Constant stress ruining our personal lives. Actual hate speech from politicians and pundits hiding behind pious ideas. The general hell-in-a-handbasket direction our whole world seems to be heading. The average person can't do much about those big problems. But he or she has to blame somebody. Or something.

Entertainment is always an easy target. And rubber-stamping bureaucrats are apparently only too glad to shoot that fish in the barrel.

Following the logic (such as it is) of this decision, we can conceivably conclude that from one person being offended by something -- no matter how ridiculous the circumstances -- is now enough to have that thing deemed universally offensive and censored. So where do we go from here? Taken out of context, anything can be offensive.

How long until Elton John's Honky Cat needs to be retitled Caucasian Cat? Or the Rolling Stones' Paint it Black gets censored? Should anyone be allowed to hear OMD's Enola Gay? Josie Cotton's Johnny, Are You Queer? Stompin' Tom Connors Moon Man Newfie?

Does all music have to be dumbed-down for numbskulls and sanitized for the humourless? Does every song ever written have to be scrutinized by a committee that tries to guess what might offend someone now, or in the future? And should that be a committee whose very name includes the word Broad?

Instead, perhaps there's another solution. If you find yourself offended by a word you hear on the radio, turn it off and go do something good. Donate blood. Donate a buck to the charity of your choice. Volunteer at a food bank. Take a walk. Play with your kids.

Or, hey, try watching MTV instead. One peek at Jersey Shore, and Mark Knopfler won't seem quite so bad.

johnny boy

**with thanks to the Tor Sun