What would Jesus ban?

What is more offensive, a cartoon Jesus or the Advertising Standards Authority's decision to ban it?

In 2006, during the run-up to Christmas, the Grocer magazine ran an advert for the Big Prawn Company. The ad featured a Nativity scene, but with the traditional baby Jesus replaced by an edible crustacean. The slogan read, "A King is born. Order now to ensure a Christmas delivery". Twenty-eight people complained. The Advertising Standards Authority rejected the complaints, accepting that the scenario "would be seen as light-hearted by most readers of The Grocer" and was thus "unlikely to cause serious or widespread offence."

In 2011, just before Easter, the Metro carried an ad for the mobile company Phones 4U. It featured a winking, thumbs-up Jesus and the slogan "Miraculous deals on Samsung Galaxy AndroidTM phones". Almost a hundred people complained. This time, the ASA has rejected the company's (admittedly absurd) contention that the image presented "a light-hearted, positive and contemporary image of Christianity relevant to the Easter weekend."

Instead, the regulator concludes that the adverts "gave the impression that they were mocking and belittling core Christian beliefs", "were disrespectful" and "were likely to cause serious offence, particularly to Christians".

Clearly something has changed. There were more complaints about the second ad, but given the much larger circulation of the Metro compared to the Grocer, not enough to indicate that widespread offence had been caused. Indeed, the ASA does not usually take the number of complaints it receives into account at all, even when judging whether an advertisement is likely to cause "serious and widespread offence".

Nor is it obvious why depicting Jesus as a prawn -- and the use of a non-kosher foodstuff seems especially inappropriate given Christ's Jewish background -- should be considered less offensive than a smiling, recognisably human cartoon-character offering "miraculous" deals on mobile phones. Both images are somewhat crass and likely to offend the humourless. But neither poses a serious threat to the fundamentals of the Christian faith.

It also strikes me as somewhat over-the-top of the ASA to claim that the image of Jesus emplyed in the Phones 4U ad was "mocking and belittling core Christian beliefs". The cartoon Jesus may have been based ultimately on the Roman Catholic icongraphy of the Sacred Heart. Its immediate source, however, is to be found in the 1999 film Dogma, in which a marketing-obsessed cardinal introduces the figure of a winking, thumbs-up "Buddy Christ" as an antidote to the "wholly depressing" crucifix.

"Buddy Christ" figurines and tee-shirts remain on sale, and the film, far from being banned, is shown regularly on Channel 4. The similarity between the Phones 4U advert and the Buddy Christ figure, moreover, is no accident: the one is clearly derived from the other and the cartoon would make little sense to anyone unfamiliar with the film.

It's likely that the Big Prawn complaint would have been decided differently today. In the past few years, the ASA has been taking an increasingly strict, some would say humourless, line on suggestions of religious offensiveness. It has, for example, banned a series of ice-cream adverts featuring pregnant nuns and gay priests, and even one for curling-tongs which employed the slogan, "a new religion for hair". One of the adverts deemed likely to cause "serious or widespread offence" triggered a mere six complaints. The decision led the National Secualar Society to accuse the ASA of surreptitiously re-introducing the blasphemy law.

At the very least, the ASA seems to have an alarmingly low threshold as to what constitutes "offence" where religion is concerned. An advert, it seems, need not be objectively outrageous; it's enough that someone somewhere might potentially take exception to it. The ASA's code, it is true, states that "particular care must be taken to avoid causing offence on the grounds of race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, disability or age." But it does not explain why this should be necessary, and it's hard to see why advertising should be subjected to restraints that would be considered intolerable in literature, film, art or even television.

Does it matter that the ASA is now over-protective of the supposed sensibilities of believers, the great majority of whom will at most have been mildly irritated? Perhaps not to the phone company concerned, for whom today's ruling will provide a welcome shot of free publicity. But advertising is not purely commercial. It is also public art. Its ubiquity makes it the most pervasive modern art-form, with an influence on public consciousness and the popular culture going far beyond the product being sold. The best adverts provoke thought and debate, comment on and contribute to the world we live in, and stay in people's memories long after the product being pushed has been forgotten.

Banning an advert robs people of the opportunity to have their thoughts provoked by it. Potentially it impoverishes culture. The ASA should realise that it owes greater duty to society as a whole than to the unrepresentative and eccentric handful who take the trouble to complain.

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Donald Trump ushers in a new era of kakistocracy: government by the worst people

Trump will lead the whitest, most male cabinet in memory – a bizarre melange of the unqualified and the unhinged.

“What fills me with doubt and dismay is the degradation of the moral tone,” wrote the American poet James Russell Lowell in 1876, in a letter to his fellow poet Joel Benton. “Is it or is it not a result of democracy? Is ours a ‘government of the people by the people for the people’, or a kakistocracy rather, for the benefit of knaves at the cost of fools?”

Is there a better, more apt description of the incoming Trump administration than “kakistocracy”, which translates from the Greek literally as government by the worst people? The new US president, as Barack Obama remarked on the campaign trail, is “uniquely unqualified” to be commander-in-chief. There is no historical analogy for a President Trump. He combines in a single person some of the worst qualities of some of the worst US presidents: the Donald makes Nixon look honest, Clinton look chaste, Bush look smart.

Trump began his tenure as president-elect in November by agreeing to pay out $25m to settle fraud claims brought against the now defunct Trump University by dozens of former students; he began the new year being deposed as part of his lawsuit against a celebrity chef. On 10 January, the Federal Election Commission sent the Trump campaign a 250-page letter outlining a series of potentially illegal campaign contributions. A day later, the head of the non-partisan US Office of Government Ethics slammed Trump’s plan to step back from running his businesses as “meaningless from a conflict-of-interest perspective”.

It cannot be repeated often enough: none of this is normal. There is no precedent for such behaviour, and while kakistocracy may be a term unfamiliar to most of us, this is what it looks like. Forget 1876: be prepared for four years of epic misgovernance and brazen corruption. Despite claiming in his convention speech, “I alone can fix it,” the former reality TV star won’t be governing on his own. He will be in charge of the richest, whitest, most male cabinet in living memory; a bizarre melange of the unqualified and the unhinged.

There has been much discussion about the lack of experience of many of Trump’s appointees (think of the incoming secretary of state, Rex Tillerson, who has no background in diplomacy or foreign affairs) and their alleged bigotry (the Alabama senator Jeff Sessions, denied a role as a federal judge in the 1980s following claims of racial discrimination, is on course to be confirmed as attorney general). Yet what should equally worry the average American is that Trump has picked people who, in the words of the historian Meg Jacobs, “are downright hostile to the mission of the agency they are appointed to run”. With their new Republican president’s blessing, they want to roll back support for the poorest, most vulnerable members of society and don’t give a damn how much damage they do in the process.

Take Scott Pruitt, the Oklahoma attorney general selected to head the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). Pruitt describes himself on his LinkedIn page as “a leading advocate against the EPA’s activist agenda” and has claimed that the debate over climate change is “far from settled”.

The former neurosurgeon Ben Carson is Trump’s pick for housing and urban development, a department with a $49bn budget that helps low-income families own homes and pay the rent. Carson has no background in housing policy, is an anti-welfare ideologue and ruled himself out of a cabinet job shortly after the election. “Dr Carson feels he has no government experience,” his spokesman said at the time. “He’s never run a federal agency. The last thing he would want to do was take a position that could cripple the presidency.”

The fast-food mogul Andrew Puzder, who was tapped to run the department of labour, doesn’t like . . . well . . . labour. He prefers robots, telling Business Insider in March 2016: “They’re always polite . . . They never take a vacation, they never show up late, there’s never a slip-and-fall, or an age, sex or race discrimination case.”

The billionaire Republican donor Betsy DeVos, nominated to run the department of education, did not attend state school and neither did any of her four children. She has never been a teacher, has no background in education and is a champion of school vouchers and privatisation. To quote the education historian Diane Ravitch: “If confirmed, DeVos will be the first education secretary who is actively hostile to public education.”

The former Texas governor Rick Perry, nominated for the role of energy secretary by Trump, promised to abolish the department that he has been asked to run while trying to secure his party’s presidential nomination in 2011. Compare and contrast Perry, who has an undergraduate degree in animal science but failed a chemistry course in college, with his two predecessors under President Obama: Dr Ernest Moniz, the former head of MIT’s physics department, and Dr Steven Chu, a Nobel Prize-winning physicist from Berkeley. In many ways, Perry, who spent the latter half of 2016 as a contestant on Dancing with the Stars, is the ultimate kakistocratic appointment.

“Do Trump’s cabinet picks want to run the government – or dismantle it?” asked a headline in the Chicago Tribune in December. That’s one rather polite way of putting it. Another would be to note, as the Online Etymology Dictionary does, that kakistocracy comes from kakistos, the Greek word for “worst”, which is a superlative of kakos, or “bad”, which “is related to the general Indo-European word for ‘defecate’”.

Mehdi Hasan has rejoined the New Statesman as a contributing editor and will write a fortnightly column on US politics

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era