Noen husker kanskje da general Norman Schwartzkopf var i Norge for noen år
sida, for å gi en injeksjon av mental testosteron til en
svær forsamling av dresskledde lemen, som hadde betalt svindyrt for å høre
Den Store Mann tale. Nå gjentar det samme seg i hovedstaden med Bill
Clinton i regi av et reklamebyrå, til 8000 kr. billetten.
For de her i Trondheim som har alvorlige abstinenssymptomer (tankene går
spesielt til diverse ISFIT-broilere, og til lokale ORGUT-frelste) fordi de ikke
får gleden av Clintons magiske magnetfelt inklusive hans dypsindigheter on
"lederskap", kan vedlagte muligens være til trøst?
(Sydney hadde i juni 1999 (jeg bodde der da) besøk av et lignende sirkus. Her
følger et referat, skrevet av Emma Tom, en ung og dyktig skribent. Hun
hadde den gang ei spalte i dagsavisa THE AUSTRALIAN -- ironisk nok
eid av R. Murdoch.)
Trond Andresen
*********************************************************
MASTER CLASS IN INNOVATION? TERRIFIC
by Emma Tom <etom_at_bigpond.com>
The little man with the big hair was so incredibly excited about feeling so
incredibly terrific that it looked like he was about to burst. Literally.
The way Jeff Goldblum burst when his ears fell off and his jaw exploded
during his transformation into an insect in The Fly.
"I feel TERRIFIC!!!" Kevin Trudeau enthused, seeming more cellularly
unstable by the minute (and whenever Kevin Trudeau used the word TERRIFIC!!!
you could be sure it was capitalised, italicised and followed by a conga
line of exclamation points). "Now I'm going to ask how you're all feeling
and I want you to jump up with your fists in the air and shout 'I feel
TERRIFIC!!!' too." And he did and so did we and the Sydney Entertainment
Centre usher staff were treated to the bizarre sight of 7000 "20th century
style leaders" doing just as they were told. It was just like that scene in
The Life of Brian where the alleged Messiah told his followers to leave him
alone and get a life. "You're all individuals," Brian shouted from an
upstairs window to the throng gathered below. "Yes, we're all individuals!"
came the en masse return cry. There was a lone dissenter. "I'm not," he
grumbled from the human stew.
If anyone in the Sydney Entertainment Centre appreciated the irony of the
situation, they were doing an excellent job of hiding it. Kevin Trudeau told
us to touch three people on the shoulder. He told us to touch three people
on the chin. He told us to shake the hands of three people and tell them,
once more, how absolutely Goddamn amazing we felt. "I feel TERRIFIC!!!
yapped a young man in an ill-fitting suit and a dress skivvy who'd stopped
eating M&Ms to turn and pump my fist. "That's just ace," I replied. "Really,
I'm very happy for you." There was a long silence. "You're supposed to say
'I feel terrific¹ too," he said finally, in a hurt kind of voice.
I told him that he must be joking, that I'd sooner tongue kiss a stockbroker
than do anything Kevin Trudeau told me to do. "He's an American motivational
speaker, for God's sake," I gasped. "He uses expressions like 'zero
learnability index' and 'success cycle' in public." But my young friend had
ceased to listen. Kevin Trudeau was revealing the five easy steps that would
get you anything you wanted (count that, ANYTHING!!!) and suit boy was madly
taking notes. "Dream stealers will come," he wrote obediently on the Kevin
Trudeau stationary supplied by the organisers. "Watch out for the dream
stealers."
The cause of all this silliness was World Masters of Business - the
celebrity speakathon which ferried General Norman Schwarzkopf, Mikhail
Gorbachev, Al "Chainsaw" Dunlap (billed as the king of downsizing), Rene
Rivkin, Dr John Tickell and Kevin Trudeau around Australia to discuss
leadership, motivation and how to get absolutely stinkin' rich - or even
more absolutely stinkin' rich depending on whether you'd purchased one of
the $145 cheap seats or a $995 "diamond pass" in the front row. It was
surrealism all round the day the circus arrived in Sydney. The first
challenge for punters was deflecting the abuse from the range of
anti-American demonstrators out the front (8am was terribly early in the
morning to be accused of being a hegemonistic running dog). Then there was
the small matter of singer Colleen Hewett's selection of live material.
Stormin' Norman may have appreciated Wind Beneath My Wings (he said it
reminded him of his wife) but how was an up and coming capitalist lackey boy
or girl supposed to develop a killer instinct while being exposed to this
type of middle-of-the-road schmultz? Then there was Peter Kaye's boom tish
warm-up comedy routine. "Paul Keating's about as sincere as Madonna saying
'ouch' on her wedding night," he quipped hilariously.
Wakka wakka wakka.
But by far the hardest thing to swallow was the dominate "money is
everything" philosophy espoused by so many of the day's infotainers. The
World Masters of Business (hopefully next year we'll get the World
Mistresses) attracted plenty of media chit chat about its relatively minor
political component: What Gorbachev had to say about NATO's military
campaign in Kosovo, for example. ("Reckless and unacceptable"). What
Stormin' Norman had to say about Saddam Hussein ("I would have liked to push
on to Baghdad and put a crick in his neck... after a fair trial of course").
What the King of Downsizing had to say about suing Sunbeam after he himself
was sacked ("next question please... see what I mean about the media?") But
what didn't receive a great deal of critical attention was the blatant
advocation of personal advancement in spite or at the expense of the greater
community. Where was the recognition of our responsibility to those members
of society incapable of looking after themselves? (All capitalists may be
equal but some are definitely more equal than others). And how about an
acknowledgment of the effect that class, race and gender has on our ability
to feed at the free enterprise trough? Kevin Trudeau may have been a high
school drop out who went "from zero wealth to well over $100 million in a
few short years". But he's one of the exceptions to the rule, one of the
lucky aberrations that gets trotted out to prop up the myth of the level
playing field.
The notable exceptions to this orgy of individualism were Dr John Tickell
and Mikhail Gorbachev. The former pointed out that making lots of money
wasn't necessarily conducive to living very long and advocated copious
quantities of laughing, fish, vegetables and sex (although he said the
latter could be replaced by rice if necessary). Gorbachev's appearance,
meanwhile, included actual elements of altruism. Apart from donating his fee
for the event to charity, he was also the only speaker who flogged his
favourite charities (cynics might suggest that one of these was his country)
rather than his book or investment advice newsletter or $300 Mega Memory
set. Was it really so surprising that so many people walked out on him? Sure
he was the last speaker during an eight-hour session but most attendees
seemed to have opinions more in line with those of Al Dunlap. "Our
responsibility is to be outspoken advocates of the free enterprise system,"
Dunlap had said. "You want a friend? Get a dog." I only hope that the King
gets put down the moment he gets a bit limpy around the legs or a bit mangey
round the backside. It would also have been poetic justice if he¹d had to
sit next to Kevin Trudeau all the home to the land of the free. If he was
still feeling TERRIFIC!!! after 12 hours of Transpacific crossing and
motivational metaphors about human beings being like fleas in jars, he's a
better man than I¹ll ever be.
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.2 : 20-12-01 MET