An interview with Corriere della Sera
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Art Spiegelman decided to leave the New Yorker, in protest to what he calls "the widespread conformism of the mass media in the Bush era." "The decision to leave was mine alone," the author of Maus, the saga of Jewish mice exterminated by Nazi cats that won him the Pulitzer Prize (the first given to a comic book), explained in an interview with the Corriere della Sera. "The director of the New Yorker, David Remnick, was shocked when I announced my resignation. He attempted to dissuade me. But I told him that the kind of work that I'm now interested in doing is not suited to the present tone of the New Yorker. And, seeing that we are living in extremely dangerous times, I don't feel like stooping to compromise."
(Q) Do you also consider yourself a victim of Sept. 11?
"Exactly so. From the time that the Towers fell, it seems as if I've been living in internal exile, or like a political dissident confined to an island. I no longer feel in tune (agreement) with American culture, especially now that the entire media has become conservative and tremendously timid. Unfortunately, even the New Yorker has not escaped this trend: Remnick does not feel up (able) to accept the challenge, while, on the contrary, I am more and more inclined to provocation.
(Q) What kind of provocation?
I am working on the sixth installment of my new strip, "In the shadow of no tower," inspired both by memories of Sept. 11 -- on that day, I had just left my apt, a few steps from the tragedy - and a present in which one feels equally threatened by both Bush and Osama. The series was commissioned by the German newspaper "Die Zeit", but here in the USA, only the Jewish magazine "The Forward" has agreed to publish it.
(Q) Did you feel snubbed by the refusal of the New Yorker to publish it?
Not at all. I knew from the beginning that the tone and content of the strip -- what, at this point in time, is of most concern to me -- were not in harmony with those of the New Yorker. A wonderful magazine, mind you, with delightful and refined covers, but also incredibly deferential (obsequious) to the present administration. If I were content to draw harmless strips about skateboarding and shopping in Manhattan, there would have been no problem; but, now, my inner life is inflamed with much different issues.
(Q) For what do you reproach the New Yorker?
For marching to the same beat as the New York Times and all the other great American media that don't criticize the government for fear that the administration will take revenge by blocking their access to sources and information. Mass media today is in the hands of a limited group of extremely wealthy owners whose interests don't coincide at all with those of the average soul living in a country (USA) where the gap between rich and poor is now unbridgeable. In this context, all criticism of the administration is automatically branded unpatriotic and un-American. Our media choose to ignore news that in the rest of the world receives wide prominence; if it were not for the Internet, even my view of the world would be extremely limited.
(Q) Then the Bush revolution has triumphed?
Yes. In Reagan's time, "liberal" was a dirty word and to be accused of such an offense was an insult. In the Bush jr. era, the radical right so overwhelmingly dominates the debate that the Democrats have all had to move to the right just to be able to continue the conversation.
(Q) Will the New Yorker be the same without Spiegelman?
The New Yorker existed long before I came on board. The great majority of the readers who adore the warm and relaxing bath of their accustomed New Yorker (probably, in English, a contemptuous illusion to the hot tub) were very upset by the "shock treatment" of my covers. These readers will feel more at ease with the calm and subdued (submissive) New Yorker of the tradition which from the Twenties mixed intelligence, sophistication, snobbery, and complaisance with the status quo. Every time that I put pencil to paper, I was flooded with letters of protest.
(Q) Which of your works caused the most controversy?
The cover with the atomic bomb issued on the 4th of July. The one from last Thanksgiving where turkies fell from military aircraft. The only one universally well- received was the Sept. 24 cover with the Twin Towers in two-toned black. The censorship of my work began as soon as I first set foot in the magazine, long before the 11th of September.
(Q) What kind of censorship?
Large and small. For the Thanksgiving cover with turkies dropped in the place of bombs, I chose the title "Operation Enduring Turkey" to mimic "Operation Enduring Freedom" then begun by America in Afghanistan. But David Remnick forced me to change the title.
(Q) Is it possible that the media is more reactionary than their readers?
I don't think so at all, not after reading in the polls that George W. Bush is the most admired man in America. The world I see is very different from what they see. Those who think like me are condemned to the margins because the critical alternative press of the Vietnam War era no longer exists. The NYT chose to remain silent about the enormous protest marches that took place during the summer; and the readers of The Nation, the only newspaper with any guts, are at most 50 thousand: nothing in a country as large as ours.
(Q) What does your wife Francoise Mouly, the artistic director of the New Yorker, think of all this.
She thinks that I've left her at the New Yorker as a hostage, but I don't think she wants to follow my example. Sometimes, I think I would like to emigrate to Europe; and seeing that in America they won't even let me smoke, the temptation is very great.
Q) Your plans after the New Yorker?
In May, at the Nuage Gallery in Milano, there will be an exhibition that covers my ten years at the New Yorker. Ten is a better number than eleven and, who knows, perhaps I left the magazine simply because it better suited the book and catalog that accompany the exhibition.