By Selwyn Duke
Upstate New York's Catskill Mountain Range is a bucolic place near and dear to my heart. It's where storybook character Rip Van Winkle enjoyed his legendary slumber, and its scenery hasn't changed much since he was born of Washington Irving's fertile imagination. Yet, like Van Winkle, if I'd fallen asleep for 20 years when first arriving in that verdant heaven, I, too, would have noticed some profound changes upon awakening.
About two decades ago, many rural Catskill teens - sons of farmers and hunters and fishermen - suddenly started donning baggy pants and reflecting "gangsta'" counter-culture despite living nowhere near any large urban center. The following generation of teens experienced today's recent cultural evolution and often sport multiple tattoos and body piercings despite living nowhere near NYC's grungy East Village. Yet I'm wrong in a sense: those places were actually very close - a television set away.
My old hinterland haunt was once place where, if you wiggled the rabbit-ear antenna just right, you could pull in one or two TV stations. And what could you see? Perhaps reruns of The Brady Bunch, perhaps the news. But about a quarter century ago came VCRs and video stores; then cable and satellite TV; and, finally, the Internet. The serpent had entered Eden.
In the wake of the Sandy Hook tragedy, much fire has been directed at gun advocates in general and the National Rifle Association in particular. In response, the organization has implicated Hollywood and popular culture in general for mainstreaming mindless violence. Yet even many Second Amendment advocates part company with the NRA on this point. After all, blaming entertainment for crime smacks of blaming guns. Yet there's quite a profound difference: guns don't transmit values. But how we use guns - and knives, fists and words - on screen certainly does.
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