Twenty Years Later

Spent the better portion of the day sunbasking and watching the Live 8 broadcast, alternating between coverage on MTV and VH1. (To be sure, the two channels were showing exactly the same production; as dual event sponsors, they paired up MTV and VH1 on-air personalities to provide commentary and synchronized their broadcasts down to the second. This, I think, is what made the magnitude of the event finally click for me - two direct competitors creating a single broadcast. My channel-surfing, then, was dependent not on the actual coverage of the concerts, but rather on whether I was more tired of seeing Vonage commercials [MTV] or Celebreality commercials [VH1].)

Spent a certain portion of the afternoon trying not to cry during the Live 8 broadcast. I know, I know: it's kind of ridiculous to let hints of weeping interfere with one's viewing of artists like Pink Floyd, U2, Will Smith, The Killers and Keane and Green Day and an endless list of others. But when an event so totally evokes feelings of both empowerment and helplessness, maybe a couple of tears make for an appropriate marker. The idea that eight men have the power to change the future of an entire continent is staggering - as elected officials, they should be honor-bound to represent us, the millions of people pushing for change in Africa; but Bush regularly disregards half of his electorate. The idea that it would only take seventy cents of every one hundred dollars to eradicate poverty is overwhelming - that goal is so concrete, so miniscule, so attainable; but our leaders have not met it yet. The idea that so many people were present today to support this call to action is electrifying - with this much pressure for change, surely some good must come; but other such calls have passed, and destitution remains long after the fanfare has disappeared.

Just before Madonna's set this afternoon, Sir Bob Geldof played a video that was shown at Live Aid in 1985. It was one of those films that takes your breath away and doesn't stop there; it leaves you feeling empty and powerless. It makes you wonder why you ever thought you needed a new mobile phone, or another pair of shoes, or a three-dollar latte. In twenty-year-old images of waif-like children struggling to live, it shows who you might have been, if not for an accident of birth. "We don't clap that," Geldof said as it finished playing. Behind him, a grimace was frozen on a toddler's face, seemingly admonishing the audience; so little has changed in twenty years.

"This child was ten minutes away from starving," Geldof announced. "But because of donations at Live Aid, she survived. She survived to graduate this year with her agricultural degree, and she is here today." And Birham Woldu, a glowing young woman, came onto the stage and beamed at the crowd. Perhaps we can have faith in change after all.

("All right, Emily, that's enough cloying sentimentality for one day, get on with it, will you?")

Spent the rest of the evening watching this movie. It's a truly marvelous film, splendidly overacted by live-theatre-type people, with plenty of late-sixties costumes and pre-women's-lib musical numbers (my personal favorite: "A Secretary is Not a Toy"). I highly recommend watching it, as long you promise not to do so during any groundbreaking television broadcasts. Wouldn't want to deprive you of a dose of idealism, after all...