Yesterday morning my neighbor directly across the street committed suicide. Well, her body was discovered yesterday; the suicide took place on July 4th. So, 40 yards from my house, and 20 yards from where my kids and I were lighting fireworks in the street, laughing, our neighbor was alone, in her car, idling a full tank of gas all the way to empty in her sealed garage. We didn’t notice any noise, no gas fumes escaping from the cracks around the door, oblivious to the world, nothing else out of the ordinary. And yet there, in the darkest, loneliest place of human existence, out of reach of humanity, she made a decision that affected hundreds of lives. I didn’t know her--had never met her, in fact. She was in the home of a man, my neighbor, who had recently divorced. They were a very introverted, ethnic family. He traveled all week, and weekends were spent away with family. The yard was minimally maintained, and over the last 4 years there was friendly, but only brief contact with neighbors. For 4 months the house has been for sale. The victim, the new girlfriend (also strangely the first ex-wife), was merely house sitting at the time. She had a 15 year old daughter.
Out of respect, that’s all I have to say about the particulars.
But how did I get those particulars? Like any neighborhood gossip. As the event unfolded, news spread out from, and data flowed into, a central source--my front porch. There were police cars, a fire engine with paramedics, neighbors consolidating into knots randomly in yards, friends and family of the deceased materializing into the cordoned front yard, a coroner, more friends and family, more neighbors, a bodybag. Then, horribly, the man, my neighbor, returns early from a business trip, disgorged by an airport shuttle, and is heard on both lengths of the street howling into the arms of family. Broad daylight. How personal and peculiar the unrestrained sobbing of a grown man. Earlier, my wife made friendly offers to help in any way possible; she even helped catch the small white dog that escaped from the house by the police officers. Now, she began to cry.
The news went out, electrified, and inward returned all the recent, half-minute “hello’s” by every neighbor over the last 4 years, and all the past, friendly chats at curbside about the weather and the man’s travels, and all the insignificant, bijou observations made by adjacent neighbors at night through gauzy curtains, all these fragments began to coalesce into form, into a story that at first ranged wide like a fan, then homed in to a possible, a likely, a probable scenario of events, and, more importantly, the reasons behind the suicide.
I don’t mean to sound insensitive or cavalier by introducing a book review by such a hurtful, private, and graphic scene, but the suicide brought the book Voodoo Histories into a focus that is stark and personal for me. The suicide had all the elements that foment theories of conspiracy. A sudden, unexpected event with many perspectives but conflicting, problematic data. A void of information into which flows a dumb putty that slowly takes a form and shape all its own. With a second ex-wife in close proximity, the girlfriend a new immigrant, a recent miscarriage, an odd divorce, broken English and foreign customs, lack of close identity with the social network of the neighborhood (such that it is), unknown motive, and several other unusual circumstances, a conspiracy theory could take inchoate hold over the neighbors caught unawares on their lawns in the middle of so many daily routines. Every person with a perspective, and yet no certainty. The human brain will manipulate that putty into as many shapes as individuals present. Lack of full disclosure is fertile ground for conspiracy theory. The autopsy will be performed. Labs. Toxicology. Homicide must be ruled out. Until then, nefariousness can creep in. And even then!--a major thoroughfare in the book--with everything refuted except suicide!, conspiracy, like leukemia, can grow slowly and ultimately consume the healthy truth.
The book is good. It’s written well above a 9th grade reading level and, with a substantial amount of British sarcasm and ridicule, Mr. Aaronovitch describes--and then dismantles--several of the most well known Western conspiracy theories from the last 100 years. I merely need mention the subject and the conspiracy theory will emblazon from our collective zeitgeist: JFK assassination, Pearl Harbor, Marilyn Monroe’s overdose, 9/11 attacks, the Da Vinci Code, Jewish world order, Princess Di’s death, Senator Joe McCarthy (and some lesser known, earlier European theories, no less rigorously debated in their heyday).
When you meet people who honestly, wholeheartedly, and passionately believe something like the moon landing never happened, or that the earth is flat, or that President Bush had something to do with the 9/11 attacks, when you realize that you’re the only person at the cocktail party laughing at the others, when you realize that you’re the only person at the lecture that doesn’t believe white man concocted the AIDS virus and crack cocaine and introduced them to inner city blacks, then, THEN, you feel as awkwardly naked as a seal on shore. What an out-of-body experience it is to be the only person in your book club that hasn’t been anally probed by aliens; to be the only person to feel that 5000 people--minimum--had to collude to make the World Trade towers fall, and that not a leak has occurred in almost 9 years; to be the only person to think FDR and the military-industrial complex did not have prior knowledge of the Japanese Imperial Fleet launching over 400 Zeros toward Hickam Field and Pearl Harbor; to be the only person who believes that when several possibilities exist, the least complicated, the least bizarre--Occam's Razor--is probably the most plausible pathway of events. Because the most plausible pathway is the one that, for the great grand majority of human events, it’s the one that usually proves sound.
The other major theme from the book is called Cui Bono?, or ‘who benefits’? Who is more likely to benefit from the outcome of the conspiracy? Aaronovitch pries hardest with this debunking tool, like a lever with the fulcrum far to one side. Easier to think Oswald acted alone ~ or that there was a broad reaching collusion of the CIA, the Mafia, and JFK’s political rivals? Easier to consider that Jews have made great advantage of their diaspora ~ or that there is an über-Jew syndicate that has machinated among world powers without interruption for over 200 years? Easier to believe that 19 hijackers struck on 9/11 ~ or that there’s a vast cabal of neo-conservative industrialists that balanced the lives of 3000 people against 2 simultaneous wars in 2 countries for 9 years and costing 2 Trillion dollars and over 4000 military lives only to lose the 2008 Presidential election by a landslide and giving up power in the House and Senate? Easier to think Princess Diana was in an unfortunate car wreck ~ or that there was a.......well, you get the picture. Cui bono.
For me, a breakthrough paragraph was this:
Modern TV schedules in Britain, America, and elsewhere teem with daytime and evening talk shows, and the last two decades have seen the proliferation of twenty-four-hour news channels. This quantity of programming generates an enormous demand for items and guests, who have to be contacted and vetted by a relatively small number of hard-pressed and usually very young assistant producers and researchers. These trawl the PR handouts and publishers’ lists for stories that will divert viewers and are easy to grasp. The consequence is that conspiracy theorists, like royal biographers, security experts, or crime experts, manage to find their way onto factual TV programs, where their claims are treated with undiscriminating credulity. (p. 159)
And this:
Consider for a moment the repressed sadism that seems to lurk behind a lot of assassination conspiracism: the descriptions of the death, the reports from the autopsy, the photographs of the body...writes almost pornographically of “parts of JFK’s skull bouncing onto the boot of the presidential limousine.” Marilyn is injected or has medicines inserted into her anus. Whatever we might have envied in these people, we sure don’t envy them now...And if we do have such feelings, one way in which we might want to exorcise them is through constructing or accepting a version of history in which they were extinguished by something clearly “other“ than ourselves. It was not our thirst for gossip about celebrities that killed Norma Jean or England’s Rose, but the CIA. It wasn’t an ordinary Joe with a rifle who murdered the young president, but the Mafia or the FBI. “What is assassination, after all...if not the ultimate reminder of the citizen’s helplessness--or even repressed murderousness?’ Conspiracy theory may be one way of reclaiming power and disclaiming responsibility. (p. 169)
A solid 4-star recommendation.
New words: sedulous, hecatomb, jeremiad, gnomic, doyenne,