How I ran for governor. Mark Twain on the power of the media

2024 Author: Seth Attwood | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-16 15:55

In this short fictional story, the famous American writer Mark Twain has perfectly demonstrated that the modern political and legal theory of the separation of powers into legislative, judicial and executive powers is flawed - for the simple reason that in reality there still exists at least ideological power exercised through control over mass media.

And as the author showed with a simple example, ideological power occupies a dominant position in this system. The story was written in 1870, but since then its relevance has only increased

How I ran for governor, 1870

Several months ago, as an independent, I was nominated as a candidate for the office of governor of the great state of New York. Two major parties nominated Mr. John T. Smith and Mr. Blank J. Blank, but I knew that I had an important advantage over these gentlemen, namely, an unblemished reputation. One had only to look through the newspapers to make sure that if they were ever decent people, those days were long gone.

It was quite obvious that in recent years they were mired in all kinds of vices. I reveled in my superiority over them and rejoiced in the depths of my soul, but a certain thought, like a muddy stream, darkened the serene surface of my happiness: after all, my name will now be on everyone's lips along with the names of these scoundrels! This began to bother me more and more. In the end, I decided to consult with my grandmother.

The old woman answered quickly and decisively. Her letter read: “In all your life you have not committed a single dishonorable act. No one! But look only at the newspapers, and you will understand what kind of people Mr. Smith and Mr. Blank are. Judge for yourself, can you humiliate yourself enough to enter into a political struggle with them?"

This is what haunted me! All night long I didn’t sleep a wink. In the end I decided it was too late to retreat. I made a commitment and must fight to the end.

At breakfast, casually looking through the newspapers, I came across the following article and, to tell the truth, was completely stunned: “Perjury. Perhaps now, speaking to the people as a candidate for governor, Mr. Mark Twain will deign to explain under what circumstances he was convicted of violation of the oath by thirty-four witnesses in the city of Wakawake (Cochinchina) in 1863? The perjury was carried out with the intention of chopping off from the poor native widow and her defenseless children a miserable piece of land with several banana trees - the only thing that saved them from hunger and poverty. In his own interests, and also in the interests of the voters, who, as Mr. Twain hopes, will vote for him, he is obliged to clarify the story. Will he make up his mind?"

My eyes just bulged with amazement. What gross, shameless slander! I've never been to Cochin-Chin! I have no idea about Wakawake! I couldn't tell the difference between a banana tree and a kangaroo! I just didn't know what to do. I was furious, but completely helpless.

The whole day passed, and I still didn’t do anything. The next morning the following lines appeared in the same newspaper: “Significant! It should be noted that Mr. Mark Twain is meaningfully silent about his perjury in Cochin! " (Later, during the entire election campaign, this newspaper called me nothing else but "Vile Oathbreaker Twain".)

Then another newspaper published the following note: “It is advisable to find out whether the new candidate for governor will deign to explain to those of his fellow citizens who dare to vote for him, one curious circumstance: is it true that his comrades in the barracks in Montana every now and then disappeared various small things that were invariably found either in the pockets of Mr. Twain, or in his "suitcase" (the old newspaper in which he wrapped his belongings). Is it true that the comrades were finally forced, for their own benefit, to Mr. Twain, to make him a friendly suggestion, to smear him with tar, dump in feathers and carry him through the streets on a pole, and then advise him to quickly clear the premises he occupied in the camp and forget the way there forever? ? What will Mr. Mark Twain answer to this?"

Could anything more vile be invented! I’ve never been to Montana in my life! (This newspaper has since called me "Twain, Montana Thief.")

Now I began to unfold the morning newspaper with fearful caution - this is how a man, who suspects a rattlesnake lurking somewhere in bed, probably lifts a blanket.

Once the following struck me: “The slanderer has been caught! Michael O'Flanagan Esq of Five Points, Mr Snab Rafferty and Mr Catty Mulligan of Water Street have testified under oath that Mr Twain's impudent assertion that the late grandfather of our worthy candidate Mr Blank was hanged for robbery on the highway, is vile and ridiculous, unfounded slander. Every decent person will feel sad in his soul at the sight of how, in order to achieve political success, some people indulge in any heinous tricks, desecrate tombs and blacken the honest names of the deceased. At the thought of the grief that this disgusting lie caused to the innocent relatives and friends of the deceased, we are almost ready to advise the offended and angry public to immediately inflict a formidable reprisal against the slanderer. However, no! Let him be tormented by remorse! (Although, if our fellow citizens, blinded by rage, inflict bodily harm on him in the heat of anger, it is quite obvious that no jury will dare to accuse them and no court will dare to sentence the participants in this case.)"

The clever concluding phrase, apparently, made the proper impression on the public: that very night I had to hastily jump out of bed and run away from the house by the back door, and "the insulted and angry audience." burst through the front door and, in a fit of just indignation, began to beat my windows and break down furniture, and by the way, she took some of my things with her. And yet I can swear by all the saints that I never slandered Mr. Blank's grandfather. Moreover, I had no idea about his existence and never heard his name. (I note in passing that the aforementioned newspaper has since come to refer to me as "Twain, Tomb Defiler.")

The following article soon caught my eye:

“A worthy candidate! Mr. Mark Twain, who was about to deliver a thunderous speech at the Independents rally last night, did not show up on time. The telegram received from the doctor, Mr. Twain, said that he was knocked down by a carriage rushing at full speed, that he had a broken leg in two places, that he was experiencing the most severe torment, and that kind of nonsense. The Independents tried their best to accept this pathetic reservation and pretended not to know the true reason for the absence of the notorious villain they had chosen as their candidate. But last night, a dead drunk man on all fours crawled into the hotel where Mr. Mark Twain lives. Let the independent now try to prove that this sucked bastard was not Mark Twain. Got caught at last! Subterfuge won't help! The whole people loudly asks: "Who was this man?"

I couldn't believe my eyes. It cannot be that my name was associated with such a monstrous suspicion! For three whole years I have not taken any beer, or wine, or any alcoholic beverages in my mouth. (Obviously, time took its toll, and I began to temper, because without much chagrin I read my new nickname in the next issue of this newspaper: "Twain, White Fever," although I knew that this nickname would remain with me until the end of the election campaign.)

By this time, many anonymous letters began to arrive in my name. Usually they were of the following content:

Or:

The rest of the letters were in the same spirit. I could cite them here, but I think that these are enough for the reader. Soon, the main newspaper of the Republican party "caught" me in bribery of voters, and the central body of the Democrats "brought me out on the open water" for criminal extortion of money. (So I got two more nicknames: "Twain, Dirty Dodger" and "Twain, Sneaky Blackmailer".)

Meanwhile, all the newspapers with terrible cries began to demand an "answer" to the charges brought against me, and the leaders of my party declared that further silence would ruin my political career. And as if to prove it and spur me on, the next morning in one of the newspapers there was an article like this: “Admire this subject! The independent candidate continues to stubbornly keep silent. Of course, he doesn't dare to utter a word. The accusations against him turned out to be quite reliable, which is further confirmed by his eloquent silence. From now on, he is branded for life! Look at your candidate, independents! On this Vile Oathbreaker, on the Montana Thief, on the Tomb Defiler! Look at your White Delirium incarnate, at your Dirty Dodger and Dastardly Blackmailer! Look at it, examine it from all sides and tell me if you dare to give your honest votes to this scoundrel, who, with his grave crimes, has earned so many disgusting nicknames and does not even dare to open his mouth to refute at least one of them."

It was apparently impossible to evade further, and, feeling deeply humiliated, I sat down to "answer" all this heap of undeserved dirty slander. But I did not manage to finish my work, because the next morning in one of the newspapers a new terrible and malicious slander appeared: I was accused of setting fire to an insane asylum with all its inhabitants, because it spoiled the view from my windows. Then I was seized with horror.

Then came the message that I had poisoned my uncle in order to take possession of his property. The newspaper insistently demanded an autopsy. I was afraid that I was about to lose my mind. But this is not enough: I was accused of the fact that, as a trustee of the orphanage for foundlings, I attached, under the patronage of my surviving toothless relatives, to the position of chewing food for pets. My head was spinning. Finally, the shameless persecution that hostile parties subjected me to reached its highest point: at someone's instigation during a pre-election meeting, nine kids of all skin colors and in a wide variety of rags climbed the podium and, clinging to my legs, began to shout: "Daddy!"

I couldn’t stand it. I lowered the flag and surrendered. Running for Governor of New York State was too much for me.

I wrote that I was withdrawing my candidacy, and in a fit of bitterness signed: "With perfect respect yours, once an honest man, and now: Vile Oathbreaker, Montana Thief, Tomb Defiler, White Fever, Dirty Dodger and Vile Blackmailer Mark Twain."