I guess it was only a matter of time before the goodwill towards this place generated by the Broadway play “Come From Away” would have its glow diminished (but only in the slightest, mind you) by a cheap American regress to the derisive brand of “stupid Newfies” and the seal hunt.
Now, full disclosure here: I’ve never seen a single episode of “The Simpsons,” the immensely popular television show that delivered the Newfoundland slurs this week, a fact that may prove a surprising revelation to those who assume (rightfully so) that I have always embraced the type of irreverence and satire for which the American show is known; but, for whatever reason, animated TV programs, and animated movies, for that matter, have never been my cup of tea, no matter what their acclaim happens to be.
But I’ve taken in enough entertainment journalism over the years to realize “The Simpsons” has been on the boob tube for what seems like an eternity — I think its longevity is in the range of the airtime Matt Dillon accumulated while shooting up bad guys on “Gunsmoke,” his penchant for gunplay perhaps due, in part, to his frustration at having the longest platonic relationship in the history of the Old West (with Miss Kitty, the saloon owner, old geezers like myself can recall).
So, make no mistake about it: millions upon millions of people were tuned in to absorb that distorted image of Newfoundland on “The Simpsons,” one that has this land of ours inhabited by “stupid Newfies” who take immense pleasure in clubbing “baby” seals to death.
It’s not nearly enough of a public relations calamity, as I’ve implied, to ruin the perception of a generosity of spirit and a uniqueness of culture about Newfoundland that “Come From Away” has enhanced, but we shouldn’t forget that “The Simpsons” is aired in a country where half its residents think of Donald Trump as the Second Coming, as opposed to the racist nincompoop he actually happens to be. In other words, the gullibility of millions of Americans, especially its hillbilly “Deliverance” contingent, is palpable.
To tell the truth, I was betwixt and between, slightly ambivalent in my initial reaction after hearing about “The Simpsons” episode and looking at the appropriate scenes online. Ah, let it go, I thought; it’s only a foolish television show.
Ultimately, though, the “stupid Newfies” reference, in particular, got to me, as that piece of outrageous slanderous garbage usually does. For which, of course, I make no apologies. I hope my outrage on that matter lasts till the day my ancient body is being cremated at Caul’s in Torbay).
You could argue that the soldiers of satire should be permitted to take no prisoners, that there should be nothing out of bounds, political correctness be damned. And I tend to agree. But we’re not talking about politicians or institutions here: “stupid Newfies” is taking a shot at a people, a culture. Would the writers of “The Simpsons” feel free to mock Jews or blacks or Aboriginals in the way in which they mocked Newfoundlanders? You know they wouldn’t.
As for the attempt at cheap humour on the bashing of seal pups, I guess that’s fair game for satirists, even when inaccurate and over the top. (As was noted in a number of circles this week, baby seals, harp seals, are no longer part of the annual slaughter; but, then again, truth has never been a crucial ingredient in any of the anti-sealing campaigns).
I think my father had an ingenious way of dealing with the anti-sealing zealots, a yarn that I’ve never, ever forgotten, and a story I’ve been dyin’ to find an excuse to tell in this space for years:
Back in the mid and late ’70s, when the sealing protests were really taking off, a poster appeared on a bulletin board in the Trans World Airlines cargo offices in Philadelphia where my father worked, and it showed a Newfoundlander ready to bring his hakapik down on the skull of a seal. The caption read: “Gerry Wakeham on vacation.”
Now Dad could have gotten outraged, but instead, he showed up the next day at his TWA offices with a toy baby seal I had sent as a present at some point to my younger sister, Tricia. He was also armed with a five-foot long stick of sorts. Dad walked onto the floor of the Air Cargo hangar, and in front of dozens of men, lay the toy seal down and proceeded to smash its head several times with the stick. He then picked up the seal, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and walked away. His fellow workers had absolutely no idea how to react. But they knew the “Gerry Wakeham on vacation” had been put in the ridiculous, perhaps comical perspective it deserved.
Anybody who knew my father’s extroverted nature and his theatrical prowess can, I’m sure, visualize his performance that day in Philadelphia.
If there’s a hereafter, you gotta believe the old man is still performing.
But not using the word “Newfie.”
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Bob Wakeham has spent more than 40 years as a journalist in Newfoundland and Labrador. He can be reached by email at [email protected]
