Perhaps more understandably, although just as Stockholm Syndrome-esque, there have been 281 mentions of Rupert Murdoch in The New York Times over the last year, especially as he wrapped his lips in a death-and-life giving kiss with the Journal.
I looked up the “cure” for identification for our aggressors and of course I should have known better. There never is a cure for anything. But there is a recommendation that the patient—our industry—once bullied and now eager to serve or appropriate their defilers, start to find some “healthier” role models for relating. We the patients have, after all, developed an unnerving attachment to the people that are taking us down. But we may actually be “testing.” looking around for “healthier relationships,” and not finding them—in the words of one philosopher deciding, apocalyptically, to “enjoy our symptom.”
So here’s a novel idea. When the old-school moguls, take-over artists, the blog stars grab our flailing business, let’s not passively cede the floor to their charms. After all, they like being framed and defamed by us. Show some self-respect: refuse. Leave the confessional blogs with nothing real to confess alone. Don’t run another story about the content-averse glories of our new media masters.
Take back the word count.