I met Herbert Block, the late, great editorial cartoonist Herblock, in Washington in the early 1980s. Maybe I should say I saw him. “Met” is too strong a word. I never even shook his hand.
I was married at the time to Jimmy Johnson, a Mississippi editorial cartoonist, and, because of Jimmy, we were attending the National Society of Editorial Cartoonists convention in Washington. Herblock, a deity in the trade, made an appearance.
Jeet Heer of The New Republic wrote that Herblock “spent his long life practicing the vicious art of visual mockery, exaggerating the physiognomic peculiarity of politicians in order to call attention to their moral defects.”
“Visual mockery.” A good term. Nobody was better at it, except maybe Bill Mauldin.
Herblock drew Joseph McCarthy “as a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal” and Richard Nixon as a “shifty, beady-eyed used car salesman.” Again, to quote Heer.
Herblock changed our world, peacefully, with pen and ink. He milked sacred cows dry.
I thought of Herblock in recent days with the sickening news coming from Paris about the massacre of magazine satirists. I’m sure over the years Herblock got his share of angry letters and empty threats. But I doubt if Herblock, like the slain cartoonist editor of Charlie Hebdo, needed a constant bodyguard. Times have changed.
I grew up on the wonderfully wacky satire of Mad magazine. I married a cartoonist. I’ve spent most of my adult life writing social and political commentary, though I noticed some years ago that satire doesn’t work well anymore in this country. I tend to avoid it. People have become too literal.
One of my lowest moments as a columnist came after reading an Associated Press story that said people claimed to like George W. Bush because he used “small” words when he spoke. I wrote an entire column using mostly three- or four-letter sentences. I like Bush. He talks plain. I understand him. Liberals wrote to complain about my conversion to conservatism. Conservatives wrote to congratulate me.
In the U.S., there were over 2,000 working editorial cartoonists at the beginning of the 20th century. At the beginning of the 21st, there were fewer than 40.
In France, where even young people are well-read and passionately interested in current events, the art of satire thrives. The role of political cartoonists remains viable. The right to free expression is treasured. Are the cartoons always on point, in good taste, world-changing? No. But at least the possibility of changing the world with ink is intact.
The assassins picked the wrong country if they thought they were going to silence satirists. French men and women, young and old, have taken to the street to show they won’t be intimidated. “Je Suis Charlie!”
The office of Charlie Hebdo where the murders occurred is near the Place de Bastille. One could make a legitimate claim that editorial cartooning got its start at the same place around the time of the French Revolution.
What the world needs is more irreverent humor and satire, not less. It needs more talented and informed journalists using “visual mockery” to make a point. It needs free expression. And the world needs to remember that all of us who believe in free expression are Charlie.
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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