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Blondenfreude An old joke bears repeating: Two men are walking in the woods when they come across a bear. The first man reaches into his knapsack and pulls out a pair of sneakers. “Why are you putting on sneakers?” asks the second man. “You can’t outrun a bear.” “I don’t have to outrun a bear,” said the first, “I just have to outrun you.” No lack of moral clarity here: If one of us is going to be eaten by a bear, it’s better you than me, thinks the first fellow. If we were to add an epilogue to this story in which the first man trips and falls in his haste to outrun the other and thus becomes the bear’s victim, there’s a strong chance that we, along with the second fellow would feel what the Germans call Schadenfreude - joy at someone else’s misfortune. Arrogant jerk. He got what he deserved. Malicious joy. It’s an emotion as old as the human race itself. The Old Testament reeks of it. At the Red Sea, the Egyptian army is still warm in its watery grave when Moses and Miriam, tambourines in hand, lead a mocking dance and sing a song about how the Egyptians sank like lead in the mighty waters. The psalmist, aching for Schadenfreude, complains about the prosperity of the wicked while he feels like a pelican in the wilderness. Habakkuk marvels at the Chaldeans who deride, scoff and laugh, yet God remains silent and unresponsive while “the wicked swallow up those more righteous than themselves.” Not much has changed. Experiencing joy at another’s misfortune has become the American pastime; it’s our favorite guilty pleasure. In the post-9/11 hysteria of last year, we staggered in a delirium of revenge. We had already seen the video footage of Palestinians cheering the destruction of the World Trade Towers. In Brooklyn, one young man emerged from a sea of people to climb atop an old Buick station wagon and thrust his fist into the air. He challenged Bin Laden to bring it on, and promised that when he did, he would personally kick some ___ [rhymes with grass]. In the post-Enron months, justifiable Schadenfreude was the emotion du jour. There’s no denying that we watched with some satisfaction as Adelphia CEO John Rigasso, his two sons and others were pulled down off their corporate perches and marched off to the local hoosegow in handcuffs. Not even Martha Stewart is immune. As America’s doyenne of domesticity padded her portfolio, making millions by staying true to her motto, “Just Have More,” even Homiletics took a swipe at her (see “Regis and Jesus,” Homiletics, March 19, 2000). Then, when she appeared to have profited from insider information on Wall Street, and as the feds tightened the noose, those who grumbled at her dumb luck now cheered at her misfortune. As Alessandra Stanley and Constance Hays twittered in The New York Times, the emotion was a blond variation of evil joy: Blondenfreude - the joy of watching blonds screw up. In the late ‘90s, Republicans could scarcely muffle their delight at the self-destructive shenanigans going on in the Oral Office. Democrats clucked at the marital misfortunes of Newt Gingrich and Bob Livingston and others. Even the church got involved. Liberals chortled at every new Falwell gaffe, at published reports of this or that evangelical calling Mohammed evil, devilish and a terrorist to boot, and scoffed when Southern Baptists reaffirmed the subordinate role of the wife in the home. On the other hand, the glee among evangelicals was palpable when it was revealed that Jesse Jackson had a child of an extramarital affair and was supporting the child and his mother. In Chicago this summer, a father and son tag team jumped the railing at a White Sox-Royals game to pummel the Royals’ first base coach, Tom Gamboa. Later, in custody, the attackers spoke: “He got what he deserved,” said a bare-chested Dumb with Dumber standing at his side. Most of the crowd, not to mention those watching on television during subsequent replays, were disappointed that security acted as quickly as they did to pull the counterattacking Royals and White Sox off these two Neanderthals. Now the country’s gearing up for war, and by the time you read this it may already be on. What we don’t realize and don’t talk about is that this war is all about Schadenfreude. We haven’t got any lately - not since we knocked off the Taliban in Afghanistan. We need Schadenfreude. We’re hooked on it. It’s a part of our psychological makeup. We feed on it. It’s why President George Habakkuk Bush, relying on information from his advisers in the U.S. Department of Schadenfreude, wants to go after this Chaldean. After all, he noted, “He tried to kill my dad.” Most Americans would like nothing better than to see Stone-cold Saddam body-slammed to the mat with an American heel at his throat. The war may be a just cause. Perhaps not. But in any case, we cannot have a just and joyous war. There can be no joy in launching missiles or in dropping bombs that take human life. We can only hope that many more lives will - by our actions - be saved. But war is no time for Schadenfreude, Saddamenfreude, or any kind of freude.
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