Death Metal is a relatively young phenomenon, and no precedents have been set regarding its censorship. Plenty of precedents regarding censorship itself have, however, been set. To assess the likelihood that congressional efforts at censorship of Death Metal music will succeed, it useful to look at the overall history of congressional broadcast content regulation. Events throughout history suggest that political efforts at censorship will fail. Moreover, a detailed look at congressional hearings reveals some shady behavior on the part of congressmen and some doubts as to their actual motivations in advocating censorship.
The First Amendment is repeatedly invoked by opponents of broadcasting regulation who affirm that such regulation cannot succeed (Blumner A18). The evidence seems to suggest that they are correct: “Broadcast content regulation has failed miserably and will continue to fail” (Krattenmaker & Powe 2–3). Yet despite repeated failures and the potency of the First Amendment, congressmen have perennially and passionately brought the issue to the floor. What can account for this?
According to the theory of symbolic politics, the actions of congressmen with respect to the regulation of media violence have been more symbolic than substantive. In many cases, congressmen have acted in the manner which best ensures their own promotion, enrichment, or popularity, irrespective of empirical evidence or declared moral convictions. In other cases, they have addressed the topic out of sincere concern, but have stopped short of action. In nearly every instance, congressmen have embraced the symbolic power of the media violence issue and have exploited its potential to provoke feeling through highly emotional appeals. Proponents of the symbolic politics theory would argue that Congress creates issues, manufactures opposing sides, rallies public passion and support, and fights battles without accomplishing anything substantive. Such symbolic wars make the individual politician appear to be a crusader before his constituents but prevent him from actually having to pass any legislation that could harm powerful industry executives (Hoerrner 1999 684–98).
The first well-developed theory of symbolic politics is that of Murray Edelman. For Edelman, symbolic politics take hold when groups are interested only in symbolic reassurance: it is not merely the politicians who are manufacturing symbols and manipulating the public; the public plays an important role in legitimatising and validating the symbols embraced by congressmen (Edelman 1977 43–4, Edelman 1971 3–4). Thus, Congress is not trying to deceive the public into believing that media violence is responsible for actual violence; instead, congressmen as well as their constituents want to believe this, and often, both groups do (Edelman 1977 50–55). Edelman calls this phenomenon “political quiescence” (Edelman 1985 22–23).
Some theories of symbolic politics suggest that morals are often insincere (although this suggestion is not essential to the thesis of symbolic politics). As the research within this chapter will reveal, there is a great deal of evidence for this insincerity on the part of many politicians. Nonetheless, possession of sincere moral convictions on the part of politicians and their constituents does not invalidate the theory of symbolic politics because it does not change the fact that substantive claims and actions are absent. Moral arguments against media violence attack symbols rather than tangible things.
The main signals of symbolic political behavior are unclear, emotional, or provocative arguments, which are “sociopsychological” rather than rational (Edelman 1985 30). Such arguments show very little intellectual grasp of the situation. They are personalized, oversimplified, based on stereotypes, and rely on insecurities and uncertainties. Symbolic scapegoats serve to relieve tension; they are opiates (Edelman 1985 31–8). In terms of the broadcast regulation issue, one might say that media violence (rather than poverty or lax gun control) serves as a scapegoat blamed for actual violence.
Fans of Death Metal tend to adhere to this view. Countless interviewees complained that the current political battles over “violent” entertainment forms that are believed to promote violent behavior are utterly non-substantive. Karl Sanders is irate at the situation:
I think that it’s a smokescreen. Most every politician or political group that is campaigning against violence is not willing to take the effort to solve the real problem of violence in our country, which I think is socially and economically motivated. Like, you have a bunch of young black males committing crimes because they’re the ones that are raised and bred and put in an economic position where that’s how you survive, that’s what you’ve gotta do. Instead of solving the real problems that breed that sort of hate and violence and the whole cycle, you get people campaigning against music or violent video games or whatever. The voters are supposed to believe that they’re trying to do something about violence, but they’re not. [Music]’s not the cause of violence; that’s utter ridiculousness.
Despite vocal advocacy of censorship, symbolic political theory suggests that the threat of censorship is not very genuine. That is, if legislation curbing media violence is passed, it will be unclear and rather ineffectual because it is a manufactured solution from the start. Edelman explains that the “underlying ambivalence” of such legislation is clear in the “irresolute manner in which regulations are enforced and particularly the predictable provision of loopholes, inefficient inspection, and devices for evasion” (Edelman 1985 62). Often, Congress has no intention to make substantive changes; its role is that of “accommodator and conservator of established features of the status quo” (Dolbeare & Edelman 296).
Congressional interest in television violence began in the 1950s (Rowland 99–100). In 1952, the House authorized an FCC Subcommittee to investigate the violent and offensive nature of broadcast programs (Hoerrner 1999). Representative Oren Harris (D-AR), who owned shares in a television station, led the Subcommittee. The final report was a succinct statement that all findings were inconclusive (Rowland 1983 99–100). In 1954, the Subcommittee leadership shifted to Senator Kefauver, who had his eyes on the presidential bid in the following year’s election. Kefauver himself had convoluted ties to the media industry, from which he had profited immensely. (For instance, he served as the narrator of Crime Syndicated, which was a rather violent television program.) Despite all of these connections with the media industry, Kefauver became one of its staunchest opponents as the chair of the Subcommittee on Juvenile Violence. Kefauver’s hearings featured witnesses that presented only one side of the story, that of media-violence opponents. In the end, the Subcommittee simply called for more research on the topic and asked the FCC to take content into consideration when renewing licenses (Hoerrner 1999). Neither of the recommendations became legislation.
The hearings on media violence and juvenile delinquency in the 1950s certainly support the theory of symbolic politics. The actions of the main players appear to have been motivated by the desire for enhanced personal popularity and self-enrichment, rather than the desire to discover truth and address youth violence. Over 1,000 pages of testimony on the possible relationship between media violence and youth violence were produced; however, no conclusions were drawn and nothing was actually accomplished (Hoerrner 1999). Moreover, the hearings were almost purely emotive and lacked all substance. Any conclusions regarding a link between media violence and actual violence that the Subcommittee may have made were not made on the basis of scientific evidence. In short, the media violence symbol became the scapegoat for an inexplicable and highly challenging social problem, juvenile delinquency, that everyone was united in despising but that no one could really explain. A pattern emerged in the 1950s that has repeated itself a number of times. First, the government criticizes the broadcasting industry for its violent program content. Second, the industry accepts this verbal criticism and promises to improve. Third, the government stays out of the industry’s business until the cycle repeats itself.
The media violence issue came into the spotlight once again in 1961 with the hearings of the Dodd Subcommittee. The hearings proceeded much as the previous had, with many impassioned pleas and very little scientific evidence. Dodd needed the media violence issue because he was suffering at the polls and doing poorly politically, but he also needed money from the broadcasting industry (Rowland 110–111). No meaningful legislative action resulted from the findings of the Dodd Subcommittee. The reason given was, of course, the First Amendment. One could probably wager safely that the congressmen were aware of the First Amendment when they initiated the hearings to begin with. They may have felt shielded all along by the Amendment. Like opponents of Death Metal today, they were comfortable shouting about media violence and confident that they would not have to rub shoulders with industry executives when it finally came down to the bottom line. The public, in turn, was very content to hear Congress talk, even if no legislative action followed. For both politicians and their constituents, talk about media violence served as a mild opiate to ease feelings of responsibility and concern for the violent acts in society.
The late 1960s saw a situation of social chaos similar to the perceived moral crisis of today, spurred by school shooting. After the riots in Watts and the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and the Kennedys, Americans became increasingly concerned about violence in society. When President Lyndon Johnson called for the Presidential Commission on the Causes and Prevention of Violence in 1968, the situation betrayed the search for a scapegoat. The late 1960s investigations that took place in attempts to establish a link between media violence and actual violence were highly unscientific (Rowland 121; Ramey 2001). The nation needed someone to blame for disturbing violent incidents, and in a state of widespread emotional and psychological distress, Americans were not overly careful in assigning culpability. The hearings were laced with specific gruesome examples, and lacking in statistical or scientific proof (Rowland 122). Nonetheless, the 1970s saw the release of the Surgeon General’s final report, stating that there was indeed a correlation between exposure to media violence and level of aggressiveness (UCLA 1995). This conclusion was far from perfect. Although there were a number of studies supporting the thesis that media violence could lead to actual violence, there were just as many significant studies refuting the same thesis (UCLA 1995). These studies were not mentioned. Congress had achieved the desired result and acquired a useful scapegoat to relieve public tension and outcry over the violent society that encroached upon American homes and families. Yet, after the production of all of this research, all of these reports, and ultimately, a “scientific” conclusion, what would happen? Nothing (Krasnow & Longley 62). In accord with the theory of symbolic politics, Congress continued to display an enthusiastic “willingness to investigate accompanied by a marked unwillingness to legislate” (Rowland 89).
In the 1980s, Americans witnessed the continuation of the pattern that had characterized the media violence debate for the past three decades and continues today. In 1986, the Senate Judiciary Committee met to discuss an anti-trust exemption for the broadcast industry so that industry representatives could meet to discuss joint reduction in violent programming. In 1989, the House passed the Television Improvement Act of 1989 (Cooper 109–110). Instead of placing restrictions on broadcasters, it removed them by permitting negotiations between marketing executives of various companies. Thus, the Television Improvement Act effectively allowed the industry more freedom and more opportunity for economic self-advancement. At the same time, the passage of the bill made it appear that legislators had done something to address media violence. In reality, however, there were no provisions that would ensure that the broadcast industry would actually use its new freedoms to discuss the media violence issue. In fact, it was under no obligation to do so (Cooper 113–114). It is the pattern of incidents such as this which convinces one that there is little imminent threat to the First Amendment.
As the pattern became slightly more visible, politicians felt the need to increase the appearance of efforts against social violence. After all, the talk in Congress had done nothing to alleviate increasing violence rates in society at large. The effect of the symbol was no longer as potent (Simon 373, McAvoy 14, Colford 6, Albiniak 13). Gang violence was a major problem in the early 1990s, and the desire to discover the cause of the increase in juvenile crime became the focus of two congressional investigations in 1992. Interestingly enough, social scientists had found an inverse relationship between media violence and youth violence in the early 1990s: as one increased, the other decreased. This did not deter congressmen from focusing on the media violence issue. During the hearings, a popular form of presentation involved showing clips from the most violent programs on TV (Cooper 117–118). This is a perfect illustration of non-substantive symbolic politics and the attempt to evoke a strong emotional reaction rather than a rational analysis of scientific evidence.
In 1993, eight bills regarding media violence were introduced into the Senate. Legal scholars agreed that none of them would survive the constitutional test, and it was likely that the creators of the proposed bills knew this as well (Cooper 127). Congressmen embraced symbolic politics at this time in order to increase their popularity while remaining fairly certain that they would not have to do anything to alienate the broadcast industry. None of the proposed media violence bills were passed (Cooper 128).
The issue arose again in 1996, a presidential election year. The source of pressure to address the media violence issue came from the White House. Because of the imminent election, the media were wary of the sincerity of these moves (Huff 4). To challenge Hollywood or the broadcast industry seemed highly out of character for the Clinton White House (Freeman E-11). Many accused the Democrats of attempting to steal the media violence issue from the Republicans, and particularly from President Bill Clinton’s opponent in the presidential race, Senator Bob Dole (R-KS), who had slammed the media in 1995 and gained much publicity as a consequence of this (Rhodes 2).
Legislation was finally passed in the form of the Telecommunications Act of 1996, which required that the television industry develop a ratings system within a year and tie it to V-Chip technology for all television sets sold in the United States (Kunkel et al 157–158). At the same time, the Act “removed many of the regulatory roadblocks preventing media competition” (Cooper 132). It was thus rather satisfactory to broadcasters. Research had shown parental advisories and ratings to have been quite useless, and it did not seem likely that the V-Chip technology could change this substantially (Cantor, Harrison, & Kremar 179, CQ Researcher 1997 723–742). In the end, every side seemed to benefit from the congressional discussions of media violence, although no one had accomplished anything meaningful. In short, the politics of broadcast regulation have been predominantly symbolic, and history suggests that threats to the First Amendment are not as serious as they at first appear.