On the Media: "Whistleblower"

As I listened to On the Media, I couldn’t help picturing a little kid repeating “but why?” over and over again to a frazzled parent. I feel like this podcast’s target audience is the adult version of that little kid: earnest, aware, and occasionally tuned out by their loved ones who can handle only so much trivial rambling. However, the episode “Whistleblower” suggests that the tidbits of trivia concerning ‘whistleblowing’ might actually be foundational to our understanding of information leaks.

Specifically, the podcast emphasizes the importance of understanding a word’s etymology when deconstructing rhetoric. The episode describes a man who was imprisoned for confirming rumors about the CIA’s reliance on waterboarding. The man feels within his rights guaranteed by the first amendment to divulge this information, and when confronted with whistleblowing accusations, he freely admits he is a whistleblower; that is, a whistleblower by classical definition: “someone who brings to light evidence of waste, fraud, abuse, or illegality.” This definition is not loaded with the negative connotations that are usually ascribed to whistleblowing; “bringing to light” is a far cry from “betraying secrets.”

The podcast traces the origin of the negative connotation to labor unions à la On the Waterfront. The word came to be associated with scabs and spies, and this association, On the Media argues, is what vilifies the likes of Edward Snowden. I think by presenting the word’s original definition--one who literally blows a whistle (e.g. a referee)--and showing how subsequent definitions have strayed from the original’s purity, the podcast calls out its listeners who instinctively condemn whistleblowers.

On the Media was a great listen. A member of the Western world in the 21st century cannot escape being constantly wired into media and social platforms. On the Media helps the modern learner traverse our expanding sea of sensational rhetoric.

Alma 17-24, Jacob 4:13, and D&C 50:22-25

 I chose to read Alma 17-24, Jacob 4:13, and D&C 50:22-25 to fulfill part of this assignment. Sometimes for better--but probably more often for worse--I have always been wary of mixing religion and academics. However, as I read these verses, I realized the scriptures are a masterclass on the empathy crucial to documentary filmmaking. Some lessons just can’t be taught in the HFAC.

At first, I thought I was supposed to read Alma 17:24 instead of Alma 17-24 and was hard pressed to find something I could relate to in a verse about Ammon being offered a wife. Soon, though, the Spirit guided me back to the syllabus and showed me the error of my ways. The chapters in Alma that I read chronicle various missionary experiences, but Ammon’s interactions with King Lamoni resonated with me most strongly. In our class discussions and readings, we discuss the kind of relationship a documentarian should have with their subject. Ammon’s relationship with Lamoni is an excellent model for those who wish to share truth with others. Ammon didn’t condemn the king; rather, “Ammon became the king’s servant.” Documentarians should never exploit or manipulate or patronize their subjects. Instead, documentarians should establish trust with those who they give a voice to and allow empathy to inform their joint exploration of truth.

Another verse that stood out to me as being particularly applicable to documentary filmmaking was Alma 18:22, which describes Ammon as being “wise, yet harmless.” Even in my few and feeble documentary endeavors I have been tempted to ridicule others for their convictions and blind spots -- which is an awful way to engage with my brothers and sisters. I think Ammon--or at least the portrayal of Ammon--has the right idea: we should never weaponize the knowledge we have; we should use artistic talents to bring brothers and sisters together, not to become intellectual imperialists.

Documentarians have the opportunity to offer truth with the same humility the missionaries in these scriptures shared truth. I do not mean to suggest that documentarians should devote themselves to creating religious films. I do, after reflecting on what I read, advocate creating media that examines and maintains the empathy and beauty characteristic of human spirituality.

The Farm: Angola, U.S.A. (1998)

The Farm: Angola, U.S.A. is a chilling examination of prison life in the Louisiana State Penitentiary. Although the documentary is set almost entirely within the penitentiary, the issues it addresses emanate from outside the prison’s gates. The directors present the unjust captivity and unfair treatment of Angola’s inmates as a microcosm of the pervasive, systemic oppression of African-Americans in the United States.

Before it was acquired by the state government in 1901, Angola was a plantation that relied on slave labor imported from Africa. The directors draw parallels between antebellum Angola and present-day Angola by devoting screen time to images of African-American inmates sowing seeds on the prison’s farm for only a few cents an hour. These visuals combined with a narrator’s description of 19th-century slavery argue that Angola is the face of neo-slavery; no governmental proclamation, act, or institution has effectively uprooted the South’s supremacist paradigm.

One might attempt to invalidate the directors’ argument by pointing out that the films’ subjects are murderers--not commodified abductees, but The Farm rebuts with the story of Vincent Simmons. 30 years after a jury determined he was guilty of rape, Vincent Simmons maintains his innocence and actively pursues an evidentiary hearing. In the film, he references legal documents that quote his accuser admitting she could not pick Simmons out in a crowd because “all blacks look alike” and the judge responds that “someone must be arrested.” The filmmakers bolster Simmons’s story with archival photographs that reveal unethical and racially discriminatory legal action against Simmons. The plaintiff’s and judge’s demand for a scapegoat edited against the archival photographs portray Simmons as a man of color who was torn from his home and denied autonomy in order to gratify a white community; in this light, Simmons is a slave. This syllogism is a potent rhetorical strategy; those who argue that the subjects are, legally, perpetrators and should not be cast as victims are forced to admit the legal system central to their argument is fallible.

In class, we talk about ways documentaries “give a voice to the voiceless,” and I definitely understand the value of that aim after watching The Farm: Angola, U.S.A. Once a casualty of systemic racial prejudice lands in Angola, they are silenced and forgotten. The Farm links these inmates to those who are at liberty to fight for equality.